Foolery Forbidden
by The Cheshire Riddler
Summary: In which a mad Queen hosts a peculiar party, foolery is expressively made a no-no, witty banter is exchanged, a feline is increasingly frustrating, an article of clothing is lost, and a mutual affection starts. Twoshot.
1. Foolery Forbidden: Part One

Foolery Forbidden

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**Warning: **Mild hinting to foul language, lots of tea, and references to pop culture. This is meant to be a mixture of the Disney movie and the canon Lewis Carroll. Apologies if the speaking confuses you.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own "Alice's Adventures in Wonderland" or anything else by Lewis Carroll, nor do I own Disney's "Alice in Wonderland".

**Dedication: **For Bri-chan and Rain (creators and owners of WCMI).

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**A** boat beneath a sunny sky,  
**L**ingering onward dreamily  
**I**n an evening of July--

**C**hildren three that nestle near,  
**E**ager eye and willing ear,  
**P**leased a simple tale to hear--

**L**ong has paled that sunny sky:  
**E**choes fade and memories die.  
**A**utumn frosts have slain July.

**S**till she haunts me, phantom wise,  
**A**lice moving under skies  
**N**ever seen by waking eyes.

**C**hildren yet, the tale to hear,  
**E**ager eye and willing ear,  
**L**ovingly shall nestle near.

**I**n a Wonderland they lie,  
**D**reaming as the days go by,  
**D**reaming as the summers die:

**E**ver drifting down the stream--  
**L**ingering in the golden gleam--  
**L**ife, what is it but a dream?

"A Boat Beneath a Sunny Sky" By Lewis Carroll

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_Part One_

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_You, _The Mad Hatter_, are invited to attend the Queen and King of Hearts' semi-annual Card Party, along with an accomplice. Please be aware that you must bring an accomplice. Those without invitations or an accomplice will not be permitted entrance to the party, regardless of the matter of the possession of an invitation. _

_It is to be held in the White Rose Garden on the fortieth day of the twenty-first month from the hundred-and-third hour to the eighth. Dress code is to be casual-semi-formal-rain wear only. Hats and coats are to be removed at the entrance, period. Nothing is required to be brought, save for a relaxed, serious attitude and readiness for decent, politely restrained conversation that will be enjoyable for all and not in the least bit off-topic, random, or relatively crazy—or else. _

_Foolery of alls six kinds is forbidden fiercely, tomfoolery especially. The Ace of Spades would also like to remind certain people that while tea shall be served, this is the Queen's party, and no extreme outbursts of insanity are to be had by anyone but your gracious host herself. Please so remember that though Her High Queenliness is prone to shout out certain orders, panic should not be followed after such shouts. _

_Everyone should handle things calmly and collectedly, be it with or without a head. Apologies do go out to all those who had a scare of loosing their head last year, the Queen regrets her outbursts and sends her congratulations that all of you managed to keep your heads. She does, however, warn you not to repeat the mistake you made last time that caused her to shout out the order in the first place. _

_And under no conditions is that dratted Cheshire Cat to be snuck, smuggled, or somehow allowed entrance into the Card Party. Anyone discovered to be in league with the Cat's has their head at forfeit, unless they turn the Cat in. If the Cat does make an appearance, everyone will try and restrain the brute, not stand around cackling and laughing as has happened in previous years. _

_RSVP, by way of the White Rabbit, is open until the seventeenth hour. RSVP is mandatory, as is attendance. _

_Refusal of this invitation or any of these rules shall be dealt with by dismemberment of the head from the neck. _

_Have a nice day. _

_- The Queen of Hearts, _

_Supreme Empress of the Four Suites,_

_Head Wonderer of Wonderland,_

_And Duchess of the Deck _

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The letter was most certainly impressive, expensive and displayed good taste: the paper tinged with gold powder and the looping, cursive letters were engraved with ivory, and the whole thing had been sealed up with a crimson heart wax seal, the symbol of the Queen of Hearts and her King. But a handsome letter it was, the words it contained and its meaning were ugly. And the Mad Hatter, being the ingenious, clever man he was, understood instantly just what the letter meant. A thinly veiled threat: that he had to attend the Queen's Card Party—and with an accomplice—or risk parting with his head. And without a head, just how would he wear his hats?

So now the letter, unsealed and crumpled, lay abandoned on the long, curving Mad Tea Party table, one corner dipping into a cold, half-empty white porcelain cup of an exotic green tea the Hatter wasn't particularly fond of, as it had been a gift from Old Momma Hatter, who was getting on in her years, and as such her taste buds weren't as sharp as they used to be (the meaning being that the tea was unbearably strong).

He had tossed the invitation in the tea cup and felt the tiniest prick of regret. It was a shame to waste such a craftsmanship as had been put into the invitation's creation. The Hatter knew crafts and the beauty of them, as he was a maker of hats and a great wearer of them, but it was necessary. It had to be done for the sake of the cause.

As he would have to make an appearance at the Card Party, the Hatter had to think of subtle, creative ways to protest. Ruining the letter was merely a stepping-stone on the rocky path to what he had in store for the actual party. And what a complex, surprisingly smart plan it was shaping up to be. Because, though it was hard to tell, beneath that obnoxious overlarge green hat of his lied a brain that rivaled Leonardo Da Vinci.

It was just more easily distracted.

Currently, the Hatter sat with his chin in his gloved palm, staring moodily down at a pink cup of tea, filled to the brim with the brown, milky substance that sustained and entertained him. But, for perhaps the first time in centuries, the Mad Hatter did not feel like tea. He did not feel like tormenting innocent travelers who happened upon his and the March Hare's Tea Party. He did not feel like shining his humongous shoes (to fit the feet inside) or flossing his slightly bucked front teeth. He did not feel like dancing wildly around the twisting, long Tea Party Table. Nor did he feel like switching the forks with the spoons or tickling the Dormouse until it woke up.

No, instead, the Hatter felt most pensive, stuck in a train of thought that wouldn't stray from the track, no matter how many shiny objects littered the ground beyond, behind, and surrounding.

"Ah, Hatter my old boy, I see you have received an invitation as well?" A low, lilting voice asked, accompanied by the squeaking off the hinges of the white picket gate as someone entered the garden. Soon a furry head appeared in the side of the Hatter's vision, but the Hatter ignored his friend and colleague, the March Hare, too intent upon his contemplativeness to care about whatever the jolly rabbit had come to blather about this time.

"As soon as I read it, I knew that it would turn you into a foul mood. So I decided to take advantage of that, but not without a small, itty bitty amount of shame." The March Hare said conversationally as he helped himself to a seat in a squat red armchair with clawed feet that occasionally scratched at the ground or shifted an inch to the right, edging towards a handsome wooden stool (the Mad Tea Party furniture could occasionally be found in the morning in completely different positions and places, despite the fact that they were not enchanted or alive in the least; and while many chose to blame the Hatter or Hare for such re-arranging, in truth the tea partiers had nothing to do with it. You never really could tell in Wonderland).

The March Hare reached over the table with nimble paws and daintily plucked a tea cup up; using his other free paw to clutch at a steaming tea pot shaped like an elephant's behind by its curved tail handle. "I went over to the Duchess' house and asked that enchanting cook of hers to the Card Party. The Duchess herself shall not be in attendance; due to some grievance she has plagued the Queen with…_again_." The Hare sighed to show his disappointment. He had long attempted to help the Duchess gain admittance into one of the Queen's countless parties, but the Duchess always failed at the last moment. It seemed the Duchess' ditzy, blunt nature offended the Queen of Hearts without fail, no matter what precautions were taken. The March Hare had long ago ceased trying, "Well, I shouldn't be surprised, I suppose. It's her nature."

The Mad Hatter showed no sign of listening. For all accounts and purposes, he might as well be deaf. He would have a more probable chance of hearing the Hare then, at least. Since the Mad Hatter was, well…_mad_, in his rare relapses of sanity, he focused all possible concentration on his thinking, and none on his rash actions or his settings or whatever shiny things happened to be in the immediate vicinity (thinking about a pair of cornflower blue eyes and the girl attached to them was a definite no-no as well). He stared off into space, his blue eyes unfocused and a bit of drool dribbling down his lip unattractively. If the Mad Hatter had been at Old Momma Hatter's house, he'd have been slapped upside the head and sent into the time-out corners ages ago for his completely and totally rude, sane behavior.

The March Hare neatly poured some of the delightful beverage into his chosen cup. When it was filled to his satisfaction, he lowered the pot and set it back down into its original position, ignoring or not noticing the way the tea pot let out a shrill elephant squeal as it eyed the tiger-shaped tea pot next to it.

"Yes, how pleased and flattered was I when the Cook accepted right off the bat!" Smiling fondly and a bit proudly, the Mad Hatter's nose twitched as he professionally and critically sniffed at the tea. Scrunching up his nose, he picked up the sugar box and scooped at least three-fourths of the sugar into his tea cup. Shaking his head in disappointment that the tea had to be sugared to meet his sky-high standards as a tea connoisseur, he brought the cup up to his mouth to sip at the beverage delicately, as it was steaming hot. "She is to be my accomplice, and already has a gown to wear. Ah, and I expect that she, Helga is her name, will look quite stunning, even in comparison to the unique grandeur of the Queen of Hearts. Well, on the subject matter of the Card Party, have you given any though to your accomplice, my friend?"

The Hatter gave no reply, save for one of his eyes twitching impulsively and instinctively. Lost in thought though he was, the Mad Hatter had sixth sense for when things were about to go bad (not that he listened to the sense often, as he was usually the exact cause of why things were going bad; not listening to the instinct usually made him find himself on the receiving end of a good deal many slaps, death threats, and other such unpleasant things).

His hat tilted to side, slipping off of his bed snow-white curls. The hat looked disheveled and it was a mystery at why it slipped now, instead of when he was wildly running around. Never in the recorded or unrecorded history of Wonderland had the Mad Hatter's hat fallen off. It was one of the many odd mysteries of the odd place that shall never, ever be solved, if simply because of a lack of trying. The hat stayed on, end of story.

The Hatter suddenly let out a wild shout, like some cockerel at dawn, and then fell strangely silent, his eyes twitching spastically like someone (perhaps a little, clever blonde girl, petulant after loosing an inane argument with the Hatter) had blown pepper into them again.

The March Hare ignored his friend's antics, quite used to and passive of them after many, many centuries of them. "I thought not. Let me then suggest someone to you, someone who would be invaluable to this delicate mission to ruin the Card Party, but covertly." He paused to gravely slurp at his tea, ignoring or not noticing when half of it sloshed down upon his crisp white collar.

That meant he was quite serious, to not noticing this besmirching of his impeccable dress. The Hare gulped anxiously now, even though in the back of his mind he knew that there was no way the Mad Hatter could be listening, overwhelmed with his fit of lucid thinking. "It is delicate because we must commit foolery, but not in any of the six ways." The March Hare continued, "We must invent a new one, while someone—preferably the accomplice of yours I have in mind—distracts the Queen and other guests enough so that we may remain safely undetected."

The Mad Hatter was, slowly but steadily, coming back to his familiar, comfortable insanity. He gradually grew more aware of his surroundings, recognizing the sounds of overly sugary tea being consumed rather nosily but yet with great style and flair. It could only mean that the March Hare was somewhere in close proximity, probably with several tea pots gathered around him (the two had once tried to out-drink-tea each other in a fierce competition that last almost a month; it had ended in a draw and a very long trip to the little gentlemen's room).

Patiently awaiting his comeback into the Wonderland, the Hatter's hearing fully returned just in time to catch the next of the Hare's words. His muscles, however, had not returned in time for him to react to the words—which was a shame, as it would have been rather humorous to see his expression as the meaning of the Hare's words hit him in his slightly upturned and freckled nose.

The March Hare looked over his large, pink nose at the partially desensitized Hatter and stated careful, knowing he was treading on hollow, mine-field-worthy ground, "Therefore, for the sake of the mission, I have already taken the liberty of inviting your accomplice." The March Hare inhaled sharply and blurted out in rushed, commonly manner: "I have invited Alice Liddell to be your accomplice!" Ears wilting in nervousness, the March Hare winced, closed his eyes tight, and prepared himself for the explosion that was surely to come.

It did not once cross his small vermin brain that the Hatter was still, for all purposes, unconscious or in a coma-like state, taking a hiatus for the living, breathing world of insanity. The Hare had not wanted to think of the Mad Hatter's reaction at all, knowing the strange aversion the Hatter demonstrated in all matters related to Miss Liddell. But though several moments passed by and the Mad Hatter did not move, still the March Hare prepped himself for some raving, ear-drum bursting lecture on the subject of the words the Hare had just foolishly spoken.

For even the name of the once girl-child but now an independent young woman was enough to send the Mad Hatter off into a rant that would last for minutes (which was quite an impressive amount of attention dedication from the man who was normally addled and distracted by the shine or reflection on spoons and shoe buckles). But the Hatter did nothing, remaining motionless. Raising an ear in hope, the Hare opened one of his eyes and warily eyed his equally insane friend. The Hatter still did nothing. No twitching, no fiddling, no movement whatsoever. The March Hare deduced that the Mad Hatter simply had to be still in his momentary sanity, there was no other explanation. The Hatter lacked the means (and attention span) to sit still for so long.

So the March Hare contented himself to wait nervously, sipping at his almost emptied tea cup and occasionally peering with little, apathetic interest at the dozing Dormouse. The Dormouse had fallen asleep across a length of the table, covering a good number of silverware, tea cups, and full tea pots.

The March Hare could spy the handle of a tea pot poking out from underneath the Dormouse's left hind foot. How that position could ever be comfortable, the March Hare would never venture to understand nor try for himself. Snorting softly and condescendingly under his breath, as to not wake either of the table other, slumbering occupants, the March Hare once again returned his attention to the Mad Hatter, who still had yet to move or show any sign that his bout of sanity was finally over.

Growing impatient, the March Hare filled his cup with more tea and popped a few sugar cubes into it. His ridiculous methods showed of how properly unsettled he was, by rudely adding sugar without once tasting the tea beforehand. The tea pot that the March Hare had used let out a shrill, outraged whistle. The March Hare ignored it, slamming the top on it with no ceremony and quite harshly.

He then picked up a large silver spoon and mixed his cup, not worrying about the loudness of the sound the spoon made when it connected with the sides of the tea cup, ringing out and reverberating around the garden. He was ready for the Mad Hatter to wake up, and no longer cared for creeping around like some crook. Blast the consequences, the Hare was ready it hear the Mad Hatter's reaction to his announcement. The March Hare titled his right ear carefully, training his sharp hearing on the Hatter, in case something happened or the Hatter made a sound that would indicate he had awoken.

Little did the March Hare know what his words 'Alice Liddell' had accomplished: the millisecond the Hare had uttered them, the Mad Hatter had been pulled out of his sane haze, wrenched from the brutal and painful sanity back into his beloved and cherished insanity, at the Hare's words. After brushing away a few stray thoughts of math—whoever did such atrocious, practical things?—the Mad Hatter had become naturally frozen, paralyzed when the full meaning of his friend the March Hare's words dawned on him.

An accomplice was either a friend or a date of sorts, depending on the nature of the intentions the asker had towards the accomplice. To have invited the Alice girl would insinuate that the Hatter was fond of her or vying for courtship of some kind.

And the Hatter was firmly, certainly, one-hundred percent, totally interested in neither. The mere idea of it was enough to have the Mad Hatter scoffing over the ridiculousness of it and gagging in disgust. As if he wanted to court Alice! He would never do such a sane, rational, death-wishing thing.

Seriously—he wouldn't.

…Would he?

Ignoring the March Hare—it was the haughty rabbit's fault the Hatter was in this problematic predicament, anyhow—the Hatter had carefully reviewed his options. He could not back out of his invitation, despite the fact it had been given without his consent. He was nothing if not a gentleman, and to do so would be a wound upon his manly pride. The Hatter knew that he couldn't get out of the Card Party.

The Queen had almost plainly declared 'come or off with your head!' (which, come to think of it, was an empty threat, seeing as she had been screeching it for centuries and had never actually inflicted such a punishment on anyone, if you didn't count Tweedle, who had had a quivering Card Guard attempt to cut his head off; but somehow the Card had botched up the job so badly Tweedle had been split into Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dun and Wonderland had never been as semi-peaceful as it ever had been since). So the Mad Hatter began his mad search, groping around in his noggin for something that would throw the Card Party off kilter and into glorious chaos, without that something being able to be traced back to him and without the help of Miss Alice Liddell.

The March Hare heaved a great sigh, hoping futilely that the soft sound would somehow make his witless, numb friend wake up. It was really quite troublesome to have to await someone's awakening. The Hare could not bring himself to shake the Hatter back to the sweet bliss of the insane world—not yet at least, give it a few more minutes when his impatience would peak into anger—and could not recall any knowledge of how to go about bringing someone back from sanity. The March Hare shivered at the thought of the feared and dreaded sanity. He, too, had his rational moments, rare and terrible as they were. He abhorred them, and felt sorely sorry for the Hatter for having to go through one; especially with the added stress of the approaching Card Party already burdened on the Hatter's neon-orange-coat-wearing shoulders.

"AH-HA!" came the sudden, great shout of triumph from the Mad Hatter.

The March Hare, startled as a reaction to the shout, winced and spilt his tea all over the front of his jacket. It had splattered lightly on his bowtie as well, causing the turquoise material to be half-spotted with brown on the left side. That brought the previous stain to his attention as well. The Hare glared dourly over at the Hatter, no longer worried about his friend's wellbeing now that the ungrateful wrench had at last woken up.

Sighing angrily through his quickly twitching nose, the March Hare reached into his pocket and grabbed his kerchief. He began dabbing at the tea stains in vain, knowing that it would take a good few washes for the stains to vanish. He mentally bemoaned his unfair life, wondering why for all the tea in the world his Helga would fancy him in his present state of uncleanliness and stain-hood.

Quite cross and exasperated, the March Hare looked up from his furious rubbing to notice what the Mad Hatter was doing. His anger paused, and then was put on halt, as he watched with disbelief and awe the Hatter dance around the Tea Party garden, doing choppy jumps and pirouettes, accompanied by unexpected backhand springs and tumbles.

The March Hare soon forgot his anger, his kerchief dropping from his limp hand as he observed the Hatter's victorious dance, his rabbit mouth gaping open in amazement. He had never known the human body could bend or propel its self so much or so high. The Hare grudgingly admitted to himself that the Hatter wasn't half bad, and then contented his envy by telling himself he could do much better if he tried.

"I've done it!" The Mad Hatter exalted, jumping ten feet in the air and turning three summersaults before he landed faultlessly into the splits, not even flinching at the pose. "I have figured out a solution to the tediously troubling trouble that you have tossed upon my wondrously weary shoulders!" He began to do a crazy jig that matched his personality far more then the acrobatics had done. He looked above and beyond what ridiculous and silly would describe, but still his hat—which had remained seated atop his head even while he was doing flips in midair—held steady, never wavering in its spot. Instead, with every toss of the Hatter's head it seemed to become even steadier on his white haired head.

The March Hare observed this act with a vaguely indifferent air. He had seen this countless times before, but there was no doubt that the Hatter was a good deal more enthusiastic then he had been in years before. The Hare had simply been surprised before, as the Hatter had not done such a jig in a long while. The last occasion that had called for such celebration was when the Mad Hatter had successfully gotten Alice to leave the Mad Tea Party; and before that he had danced after avoiding having Old Momma Hatter visit (she was due to come visit at the end of the month, but the Mad Hatter had probably forgotten, and would forget until she arrived at the gate, which would lead to some drama and quick scheming). Contemplating the Hatter's brave statement, the March Hare questioned dubiously, "And what is this brilliant solution of yours?"

The Mad Hatter froze on the spot, his ear twitching erratically. His arm punched the air permanently as his piercing eyes turned to fix the March Hare with a stern look, strangely out of place on his normally outlandish expression. The Hatter pulled his arm out of the air and stretched it forwards, towards the Hare, and cocked a finger in a 'come hither' motion.

When the March Hare was of suitable range, the Mad Hatter stage-whispered, never one to do things without melodrama, "That's what I'm trying to figure out." Beside them, the Dormouse snored loudly, shaking the table and setting all of the silver ware to clack and clang nosily.

The March Hare's ears, which had been tilted forward in curiosity and anticipation, flopped down, accompanied by an exhausted sigh. Yes, by now the March Hare was used to playing the straight man or mad-man-number-two to the Hatter's comedian or mad man-numbers-one-and-three, but it didn't mean he was immune to the frustration the Mad Hatter's petulant antics so often stirred up in people, be they sane or of the opposite persuasion. The Hare simply just had more patience and tolerance for his large hat wearing friend.

"Yes," The March Hare said in a world-weary tone that of course slipped past the Hatter's notice. "Of course," The Hare slowly walked over to the table to fetch another cup of sugary tea. He gulped down his fist cup and had to pour a second, attempting to assuage his gut feeling that something was going to go wrong sometime today. He threw back the second cup of tea with one large gulp and poured another, mixing it with half of the contents of the sugar bowl.

He had a feeling he would be in need of the extra energy to keep up with the animated Mad Hatter.

-

Several breathless and briefly wet miles later, after the Hatter's self-proclaimed "brilliant and infallible" epiphany, the Mad Hatter and the March Hare together arrived at the Duchess' house. Walking fearlessly up to the grand door, the Mad Hatter pulled on the pig-shaped knocker, slamming it hard against the pristine, neon orange door. He didn't bat an eye when the knocker squealed shrilly, for it was the doorbell, surely you knew that? Everything normally uncommon was common in Wonderland. It was fairly logical, if you thought about it.

The March Hare, far more apprehensive than the Mad Hatter, stood a bit behind his much taller friend, rocking back and forth on his feet anxiously. "What are we doing here again?" The March Hare inquired, with the rushed air of someone who has asked this question many time in the space of a few moments.

All the March Hare received in reply was a hazy "all part of the plan". The March Hare was in shambles, his right paw was tugging on his ear, a worried habit he possessed, while his left was obsessively compulsively straightening out his impeccable, formal tea drinking outfit (he had changed out of his ruined one, protesting vehemently when the Hatter suggested he remain in his stained one). His squinty, beady rabbit eyes watched from around the Hatter's elbow as the door slid open, revealing a short, squat woman with a ruddy, grumpy face.

"What cha be wantin', sirs?" The Cook demanded bluntly, quite obviously in one of her perpetually irate moods. "Can I 'elp you wit' somethin'?" Her voice was gruff and hoarse, like she had smoked one too many tobacco pipes in her lifetime. She was aged below middle; but, regardless, her grumpy, irritable demeanor added years and wrinkles to her face. Her simple, drab outfit did nothing for her figure, either, as did the over seized white apron tied around her generous waist. Her brown hair, streaked with gray, was pulled back in a severe bun and covered by a hairnet. Her beady brown eyes stared out from under one brow, and a rather prominent mole stuck out on her chin. Her pinched mouth suggested she didn't smile or laugh much.

This was the Duchess' cook, and the March Hare's accomplice for the Queen of Hearts' Card Party.

The March Hare made no move to answer her, appearing stunned by his accomplice's 'beauty'. So the Mad Hatter took over the situation immediately, stepping forward and bowing. He swept off his hat for extra effect, all the while saying, "Mademoiselle Cook Lady, I, the Mad Hatter, and my friend here, the March Hare, have come to consult you about a puzzling predicament we find ourselves provoked with." He finished his bow and settled his hat comfortably on his curly white locks, his blue eyes dancing as he watched the grumpy Cook before him.

The Mad Hatter smiled suavely, savoring acting the part, laying it on quite thick as he continued. "May I first say how I begrudge my eternal friend here you accompliceship to the Queen of Hearts' Card Party? You are extremely stunning, out of this world, one of a kind, with an attitude to match. I realize now that I should have been much quicker, for it is quite factually what they say." He paused, longer then necessary, obviously waiting for someone to question after what they say.

The Cook, who had been eating up his act and who was wearing a ghost of a girlish flush on her cheeks, half-smiled and inquired instantly, "Wha do them be sayin', fine Mr. Mad Hatter, sir?" Her hands were clasped underneath her apron, and she looked almost pleased, altering her face, causing her to look her age. Her bad mood seemed to have, for all purposes, disappeared. And the Hatter, who disliked people in peeved dispositions (as they displayed an irritating and hurtful tendency to poke and whack and nudge him without just cause in his opinion), was all too happy to keep it that way for as long as his luck and acting—and attention—could last.

The Mad Hatter paused for a bit more, before he bent down to the Cook's level and stage-whispered, "That all the worthy ones get asked first." The Hatter thought himself mighty clever for his word usage; for he had never inferred that the Cook was one of the 'worthy' ones. It was a bit cruel of him, but he preferred to stick to the half-truth rather than outright lie; and the Cook seemed happy, eating every word up eagerly.

But, regardless, the careful half-truth flew over the Cook's head, for she let out a nervous, high pitched giggle and clapped her hands once, mightily flattered. Feeling the satisfaction of a job well performed and done, the Mad Hatter swaggered away, raising his hat in parting. He strutted off into the woods, leaving the March Hare on the front step and the Cook in the doorway, still shrieking naively like a nine year old with her first crush. The Mad Hatter's exit could have been and was supposed to be dramatic and meaningful.

But of course, this is the Mad Hatter we're talking about.

No less then a moment after he had smoothly melted into the shadows of the house's surrounding woods, he reappeared, sprinting over to the front step, shoved the March Hare forward, and picked up a shiny metal button that had escaped his pocket and held it in his palm.

Then the Mad Hatter strode away, his hat-covered head held high despite his minor drawback to his grand exit. But before he could disappear for a second time, the button slipped through his gloved fingers. He bent down to pick it up, sticking his nose in the air in an attempt to make up for lost dignity.

The March Hare, who was observing this highly amusing spectacle with the Cook from the doorway, let a snicker escape him. The Mad Hatter, pride wounded and general manliness at threat, straightened up his stiffened back and walked off as if his exit was still perfect. He did not tip his hat in parting as he had done before, leaving etiquette lacking, but his audience was too busy laughing to care.

"Well, Helga, may I come in? As my cohort has said, we have much to discuss." The March Hare stated firmly, trying not to melt into a pile of a stuttering nerves. He attempted to imitate the Hatter's flowery use of the English language, adding, "I also must put forth an apology for my distracted friend. He has lost a great sum of his wits, you might say." The Hare had attempted to copy some of the Hatter's act, but the imitation was stiff and awkward. But the attempt was not lost to the rarely happy Cook, who was feeling one of her occasional bouts of good-natured-ness come on, not like a bad cold.

A single giggle escaped her before she mastered her expression. "Yeah, we all are two knives short of a set, but I's figured that makes things funner. Sides, we're all here, and this ain't 'xactly the straightest place in the book." She stepped aside to allow the March Hare entrance to the Duchess' house. "Do please c'mon inside, Mr. 'are," She invited, grimacing in what was, sadly, her best smile. "The Duchess is abed for 'er noon nap, so things'll be private like so's we can dally 'bout your lil 'problem' with Mr. 'Atter and Miss Alice." She motioned for the Hare to come in, her beady eyes glinting happily.

The March Hare, smoothing his sweating palms against his jacket, nodded his head regally. "Yes, very well and good, Helga. You may call me Hare, if it pleases you," He replied, his voice breaking on the last word. Trying to cover his slip, he stepped forward quickly into the house, but managed to somehow trip and fall onto his belly and face. He lay there for a moment, before Cook Helga burst out into breathless, uncontrollable laughter. The March Hare, from where he lay motionless on the ground, faced his shame while hidden by the floor. He scrunched up his nose. _Quite tactless, _he chided himself as Helga snorted above him. _Quite tactless indeed._

-

The Mad Hatter, meanwhile, had retreated back to the Mad Tea Party garden, unaware that his bout of clumsiness had spread to his unlucky friend. Still quite miffed about his rather public slip up, he walked stiffly, with his pert button nose in the air. Tilting his noggin back so far had the effect of making his hat appear to be vertical—but, curiously, it had yet to dislodge from his cranium. The Mad Hatter slammed the white picket gate open angrily, but gently closed it, flicking the lock shut with his nimble, pianist fingers. He surveyed the locked gate with grim satisfaction. He did not feel like tormenting the poor souls who happened to wander in to-day.

"Oh the perils of the misunderstood ac-_tor_," He murmured to himself, which sounded ridiculous frankly but cheered him greatly. He added a delighted "woe is me!" for the extra effect. The Hatter slouched down, sticking his lower lip out and furrowing his brows together, attempting to look 'angsty' or whatever the teenagers called it nowadays. He nudged his hat farther up his head and clawed a hand through his hair, bringing some of it down to hang in front of one of his eyes.

There. That was the 'emo' look, as the White Rabbit had gone through a punk phase a while back and took it upon himself to instruct the Hatter in the proper ways of emo-ism. (The Hatter shuddered, recalling the multiple piercing and tattoos the White Rabbit had decked himself out in for that short week of indulgence.) The Mad Hatter then shoved his gloved hands into his pockets and walked over to the tea table, shuffling his feet and refusing to move his gaze from the ground. The Hatter bumped into a chair, as he couldn't see it, but maintained his 'misunderstood genius' farce, determined to ride out this new acting piece.

"What on Earth are you doing? That facial expression is not unlike that of a constipated baboon. Which, I suppose, perfectly represents your character, on second thought," A prim, proper soprano voice stated matter-of-factly from across the table. There were telltale signs of a spoon daintily clipping the sides of a tea cup and a quiet sipping that practically screamed 'supreme, strict manners'.

It was the extreme opposite of what one would expect to hear in Wonderland, the land of the insane and mentally unstable. But things are not always what they appear in Wonderland. And the Mad Hatter knew of only voice that could sound so practical, thinly veiling the madness hidden underneath the etiquette and well bred attitude: the voice, unfortunately, of his to-be accomplice.

Sure enough, when the Mad Hatter raised his head, shirking his adopted 'angsty' pose, comeback on his tongue (_"and you would know how a constipated baboon looks like how?"_) his eyes met the familiar cornflower blues that belonged to the remarkable (and remarkably stubborn) Alice Liddell. Her hair was longer, but the same thick, buttery blonde that fell in smooth waves. Her skin was fair and creamy, her lashes long and curling, her mouth red and full. Her face was heart shaped; the thing minstrels used to sing about (and now boys in tight pants with straightened hair moaned about on the radio) and was pictured and illustrated in books about princesses and fairies.

She was, after all, the story-book definition of beautiful. The Hatter was not a very reliable judge of age, but he could detect beauty when it lay before his eyes, regardless of how old the holder of the said beauty was. And the young woman sitting with perfect posture before him was definitely, positively, a hundred-percent, and indisputably beautiful.

And then she opened her mouth.

"Don't stand there like some unmannered and un-learned ruffian," She paused before adding thoughtfully, "Though you are one. Please, sit down." Alice ordered bluntly. She gestured with her free, un-tea cup-occupied hand at the seat across from her. Her fingernails were cut and polished, her hand small and dainty.

The Hatter slowly sat down, disbelieving. How was it that she was offering _him _a seat in his own garden? This was so different then the girl he had pushed and bullied around countless times before, the girl that the Mad Hatter obeyed without a second thought, but with plenty of protests. Normally, he would have thought to shoot back a smart response and take control back over the situation. But this was not a normal situation. This was far worse. It was a mother of a situation-situation. It was _THE _mother of situation-situations.

It was an _Alice _situation.

Which was what the Mad Hatter had been trying to avoid for some time now. The worst situation was one with a woman in it, especially one with a dominant personality (i.e. Old Momma Hatter, the Queen of Hearts, the Duchess, etc.). The Mad Hatter stared, rudely—but he could be forgiven, as he was still dazed at the sudden situation—over a collection of oddly shaped tea pots to the girl that had visited (or rather: barged in on) numerous Mad Tea Parties, each one of them madder then the previous as the Mad Hatter and the March Hare grew accustomed to her burdensome presence.

The Mad Hatter opened his mouth and closed it again. He was speechless, a feat quite rare for such a usually talkative man. But while he could think of several things to say if someone with severe foot fungus and a bad limp visited the Mad Tea Party garden or if Marilyn Monroe visited dressed in a puce string bikini, he could think of nothing to say to Miss Liddell—as he must refer to her, as she was unavoidably a young lady now and as a proper gentle it was expected of him and his duty to call her by the respectable term of 'Miss'.

Alice, meanwhile, was growing slightly unsettled under the Hatter's unmoving gaze. She had been suspicious when the March Hare had approached her, proposing that she accompany the Mad Hatter of all people to something as strange-sounding as a 'Card Party'. Alice had been reluctant at first, for two main reasons: one being that she had no idea the protocol that was to be followed at a Card Party; two being that she never wanted to go _anywhere _that the Mad Hatter happened to be, willingly.

But the March Hare had reassured her that the Queen of Hearts was quite insane indeed (which Alice had found marvelously reassuring), so there were no specific duties or etiquette Alice would need to follow, save for the fleeting and erratic ones the Queen would pull out of the air. The Hare was also quick to add that the Mad Hatter was a changed man. Alice had agreed with the first one, but had been mighty skeptical at the second.

But, sure enough, here she was now, sitting before the Mad Hatter, rudely imposing on his garden (or was it the March Hare's? She had never gotten a chance to ask, though she expected she wouldn't have received a straight answer regardless) and his hospitality. To top it all off, she had practically stolen tea! She had taken it without asking! Oh, what her mother would say if she knew. Alice didn't intend to tell her mother about Wonderland at all, so everything worked out perfectly. Except for this accomplice situation. This _Hatter _situation.

Alice glanced up, but the Mad Hatter was still in a fish-like state. His mouth would open and close periodically, as if he was having trouble accepting the fact that Alice was _here_, drinking _his _tea, sitting in _his _chair (though there were really several dozen more, some of which were more comfortable). Alice sniffed through her nose lightly in disdain. She supposed the fish face was an improvement from that barbarian face he had been pulling before. Alice set her empty tea cup down on its plate, folding her hands neatly in her lap. She would give the Hatter one more minute, and then she would let the awkwardness of the situation prevail and leave; accomplice invitation ignored or not.

"Buh-but…why are you here?" The Mad Hatter stuttered at length. His elbow was still on the table, his hand fisted with the pointer finger pointing indecently at Alice. He seemed not to notice that he had not shifted his arm position, and Alice would not lower herself to berate him for his rude pose.

_Finally_, she thought, grateful that the Mad Hatter had finally decided to speak. In reply, out loud, she said condescendingly, "I am here because I was invited by a close acquaintance of yours, Mr. March Hare, to a party of a strange nature. He, being the March Hare of course, has told me that I have been offered a spot as your accomplice to the Queen of Hearts' Card Party. Am I right in concluding that he gave this offer without your approval?"

She slipped a hand through her hair, flicking it over one shoulder gracefully, secretly loving the sleek, soft feel of her hair. She had meant to have it cut to reasonable length, but her mother kept insisting that men preferred woman with longer hair. Alice thought that was silly, but her mother was firm on the matter. Alice, whose nature did not deem fit to bend under the will of others, had allowed her mother to reign in at least that matter, as it was unimportant compared to others.

The Mad Hatter seemed to be thinking quite hard about something. His lips were pursed exaggeratedly and his eyes were half-closed as he contemplated. The rim of his hat slipped down his forehead. He moved his arm, using it to hold his head up as he stared long and hard at Alice, his gaze surprisingly critical.

Alice felt naked; such was the intensity of his gaze. She was accustomed to dealing with male intentions, but some hidden instinct alerted her that she was not being admired, but checked for certain standards on a highly professional level. This coming from the barbaric, unpredictable Hatter mildly shocked her, but Alice took it in stride. She was, after all, a proper English lady, born and bred. They were smart, witty, dependable, loyal, adaptable, and the best kind of woman there was (though there were people, mostly English men, who would argue that last fact).

"No," He stated with such conviction that Alice was confused for a moment, trying to account for his negative response.

Then his meaning stunk in and she frowned slightly, the corners of her mouth turning down at the end. "Your meaning, sir, is surely not that you had given your consent to the March Hare inviting me in your stead?" She inquired uncertainly. She had been convinced that she had pegged the matter down, that the March Hare had acted without notifying the Mad Hatter, but apparently she was wrong. The Hatter was not hiding a huge grin as he was ought to do when lying, nor was he snickering under his breath when telling a half-truth. That then would mean that Alice had presumed wrongly.

And Alice _loathed _being wrong.

"My meaning is exactly that, madam," The Mad Hatter answered in kind, recovering from his bout of shock with a cool, collected wit. He arched a brow at Miss Liddell while he shoved his hat back up into its proper place. "Could it be then, that either you have mistaken the honesty behind my invitation, or that you have come to decline?" The last bit was uttered with a challenge in them, the Hatter stepping up to the bat.

He knew who he was dealing with, and how Alice could get, but he foolishly pedaled on, confident that he could live at least another ten minutes if Alice lost her temper—or maybe half an hour if he was really, really, extremely lucky. "And you may call me _the_ Mad Hatter, or Hatter for short, yeah," He tacked on the end carelessly, waving a hand lazily in the air, knowing it would surely infuriate Alice.

Alice bristled, eyes alighting in barely concealed anger. She reigned in her temper, keeping it firmly check. She had learned many a hard lesson on what letting her rage over take her reason could do. The consequences of her quick tongue and quicker temper had finally forced Alice to train herself. Time in Wonderland helped enormously, as dealing with any of its inhabitants required a great deal of patience, the kind only the like of someone saintly would possess.

"I have visited you to-day, Mr. Mad Hatter, to confer with you yourself about the Card Party itself." Alice invented on the spot, drawing truth into her last-minute improvisation. "Mr. March Hare was not exactly forthcoming with the information on what an accomplice is, and what I shall be expected to do at such a party." She nodded for unneeded emphasis at the end, mentally treating herself to a well earned pat on the back. She had as well as told the Hatter she had come to accept his invitation (no doubt not what he had expected her to do) and it had been some clever talking on her part. She was quite positive she had the Hatter fooled.

The Mad Hatter was doubtful. He had spoken his piece like a true actor, almost believing his words himself. It was obvious that Alice had also swallowed his little white lie, from the way she had quickly crafted a solid alibi. The Hatter had to stifle a proud grin. It seemed that Miss Alice Liddell had grown into quite the intelligent, proper young woman. The translation of that phrase was to say: a right proper _bore_. The Mad Hatter knew that the old Alice was underneath all that frilly lace and those poofy petticoats; the spite-fire, emotional Alice who took nothing from no one, no matter the time or place.

"Yes, I apologize on his behalf," The Mad Hatter retorted, peering down at the empty cup of tea Alice had drunken while he had been distracted. He refused to sulk that he had lost an opportune moment to rob Alice of tea, but abruptly got over it as he was apt to do with his short attention span. "The March Hare is otherwise preoccupied with romancing his current infatuation, the…_unique _Dame Helga. I'm sure he was distracted by Dame Helga and forgot to pass on what I had told him." Drawing in a deep breath, the Mad Hatter prepared himself to do what he did best: spin a story riddled with half-truths and was mostly concocted out of pure nonsense.

"The Queen of Hearts' Card Party is something she hosts every so often." It wouldn't do to get into the time of Wonderland. Alice would just grow even more confused and the Hatter would just become bored. "It is a gathering of her current favorite subjects and their accomplices, and the Cheshire Cat, though he is always ordered _not _to attend. It is barred to those without invitations and, again, the Cheshire Cat. She stations Card Guards around the gardens—where the Party is to be held—to watch for the uninvited, stragglers, and or the Cheshire Cat." The Mad Hatter paused, thinking over what he would next say.

Of course, though, as always, Alice had something to say.

"So the Cheshire Cat always manages his way in?" Alice questioned, her fair brows raised high. "Even with people guarding against him? I find that hard to believe. How could anyone go to a party they weren't invited to? That's quite rude of him, if I may be so bold." She, done with her miniature, impassioned speech, picked up a cow-shaped tea pot by the tail-shaped handle and poured some more tea into her cup, filling it to the brim. She blinked; pausing in puzzlement as the tea pot let out a long moo. Shaking her head, she set the peculiar tea pot down gingerly, and then returned to her task. She added a dash of cream and one sugar cube to her tea cup before it at last reached her standards.

The Mad Hatter chuckled. "Well, Miss Liddell, you fail to recall the most important rule of Wonderland: there are no rules. Everyone is invited to the Queen's Card Party, even those without invitations or un-invitations—which ask you not to attend." He elaborated, sensing Alice's confusion at the word. He decided to take a break to let what he had said sink in, giving Alice time to sit on it.

The Hatter darted a hand out a swiped an éclair before the dormouse rolled over onto the platter filled with its counterparts, successfully squishing the rest of the pastries. The Mad Hatter stared at the pastry held in his gloved hand for a moment for a moment, studying it to see if it lived up to his standards, before he popped it into his mouth gluttonously with great gusto, and loud smacking in addition, especially for Alice.

Alice's attention was otherwise preoccupied, however, her frown deep and serious as she thought on the Hatter's words. "But you just said that the Card Guards watched for people who weren't invited." She said in a not-quite-a-whining tone to veil that she didn't understand; if there was one thing Alice hated more then being wrong, it was when she could not understand something.

Picking up her tea, she jabbed the cup angrily in the Hatter's direction, the liquid sloshing over the side to fall onto the tablecloth. "That doesn't make any sense at all!" She took a huge gulp of tea to steady herself, only to come close to spitting it out all over the fine linen white tablecloth. She grimaced, setting down her tea gently before adding three sugars cubes to it. She had a feeling she would need the extra energy the sugar would provide to keep up with the Hatter. She resisted the impulse to frown; somehow the Mad Hatter always managed to bring out the wild, unmannered part of her—the part of her that, though she fiercely denied it, felt at _home _in Wonderland.

She frowned visibly at that thought, shaking her head minutely so that the Mad Hatter wouldn't notice. It was preposterous; the very idea that she did not dislike Wonderland in the slightest was laughable. She assuaged and reassured herself that she did not like Wonderland by thinking of all the bad things that had occurred on her first, disastrous visit to Wonderland and the next series of visits as well.

The particular memory of when Tweedledee _and _Tweedledum had attempted to marry her at the same time in a spectacular, chaotic double wedding had her grimacing as she recalled the Mad Hatter unknowingly coming to the rescues when he objected to both the grooms, saying that proper protocol called for Tweedles to marry fellow redheads. Her arm jerked as she remembered the convincing she'd had to do to convince Tweedledee that _yes, _she was opposed to dyeing her hair red and _no, _she did not have any redheaded cousins named Elizabeth. Her involuntary reaction to this foul memory caused the tea to once again slosh over the side of her cup, drenching the fine tablecloth underneath it.

The Mad Hatter stared anxiously at the spilt tea (_that will leave a stain_) as he answered, "You forget, Mademoiselle Liddell, that this is the land of un-land, the land of fact and agreement and make-believe and contradiction." Warming to his subject, the Hatter peered over at Alice, who was now making a face at her overly sugary tea. "This place is where the happily insane in the membrane people and creatures dwell in peace and perfect, in complete half-argument.

"Anything and nothing is possible here. It is all, quite rudimentarily," The Hatter added, seeing Alice's curious look and trying to wipe it off her face before the young woman asked a million and two questions, "the land of imagination." He accompanied his words with an excessively exuberant hand motion.

Alice did not seem to have fallen under the sway of his lecture. If anything, she looked irritated. "It would please me greatly, Mr. Hatter, if you would withhold all such nonsensical, flimsy ideas that hold no grip on factual reality to yourself." She stuck her chin in the air, her pert nose poking towards the sky. Her hair billowed in the wind, somehow distracting the Mad Hatter for a short moment.

She continued in a lengthy, boorish tone, "I have no interest in such ideas and take offense that you would even consider that I was interested in hearing you spout gibberish." By the end of her speech, the Hatter was about ready to drown himself in his tea cup (which would be a waste, seeing as it was the fine, spicy tea the Three of Spades had snatched from the Queen of Hearts' own table for the Hatter as a belated un-birthday gift).

"Yes, yes," The Mad Hatter said hurriedly. "That's all well and good, but that's far beside the point." He straightened out his back, sitting up tall in his armchair. His voice full of self-importance he began, "You are to be my accomplice." He watched the air over Alice's left shoulder as he talked, figuring that it would be better then observe the anger and rage that would be sure to gather in her blue, blue eyes as he continued on. "That requires that we arrive at the Card Party together, socialize together, sit together, walk around together, and even eat those little hogs-in-the-blankets together." He wiggled his fingers in some unknown sign-language for piggies-in-the-blanket.

"It's miniature meat in buns, or piggies-in-blankets as you were trying to say; and yes, that rather does sound like an _awful _lot of togetherness." Alice instantly replied the second the Mad Hatter paused to breathe. He accidentally looked at her, and winced. Her blue eyes were narrowed dangerously and leveled on him. "Are you quite sure you have received proper instructions for what is to happen at this Card Party? If I do recall, you referred to me as 'accomplice'—_not _date, which is what this accomplice is beginning to sound eerily similar to." She folded her hands together and propped her chin up on them. She calmly added, "I would like to know what the title 'accomplice' really entitles, if you would please indulge me."

The Mad Hatter blinked. And blinked again. This was not what he had expected at all. Alice Liddell was supposed to scream and shout and cry her refusal, stomp off angrily, and return the following week like the whole thing had never happened.

He had not been expecting her to take the news so serenely (he had neglected to notice the muscle twitching in her jaw, probably because that happened every time she spent more then five seconds in his illustrious presence), nor had he ever prepared facts for the difference between an accomplice and…a _date_. Likewise, nothing had prepared him for almost—dare he even think it— not being extremely opposed to dating the fierce, one of a kind, stubborn, strong minded Miss Liddell.

He might even have fun courting her, which was something he had not experienced in nearly a century, since he had stepped out with the beautiful but blunt Meriwether (but that is a tale for another time, and when the Mad Hatter was in the mood for bragging about his rather infamous escapades that all of Wonderland was by now well acquainted with and used to).

"Umm," He stuttered intelligently. He was at a loss for words, something that, again, only happened when he was in Alice's direct vicinity. "Whatever…it is…you want it to mean!" He finished with a flourish, picking up his tea cup and drinking hurriedly, hoping that this would postpone him from further elaborating on what he meant. In truth, he had no idea what he had previously said. He simply hoped that Alice would find some meaning in his gibberish.

It appeared that, for once, Alice had bought his half-understandable drivel. "Ah," She said, nodding her head regally. She set her tea cup neatly down, without so much as a clatter, as she did most things in her life: properly. But the graceful motion was contradicted by the huge stain that had dyed the tablecloth irreversibly from when she had poorly spilt the tea a few minutes previous. "I see." Holding out her hands, she gestured widely, almost smacking the slumbering dormouse. "Open to interpretation—am I correct," The way her words were arranged were meant to sound like a question, but instead her tone transformed the words into a completely confidant statement.

The Mad Hatter tugged nervously at his collar, which had suddenly become incredibly tight. "Yes, yes," He murmured quickly, nodding his head up and down violently. "Of course! You're absolutely correct, one hundred percent," He desperately hoped he wasn't laying it on too thick; he grabbed a slice of bread and began to slop butter onto it in heaping helpings.

The Hatter determinedly did not look up at Alice, furiously hoping with all his might that Alice would not figure out by some unknown supernatural power that he was interested—no, the phrase was '_not entirely opposed to_' definitely _not, never, not _interested, the very word repulsed him—courting her. Not that he would. She was Alice and he was the Hatter. Big no-no. Never ever gonna happen in a million years. In a hundred-thousand, bazillion, zillion years times infinity. It just Plain Jane wouldn't work out.

…or would it?

While the Mad Hatter was thinking over the hardest and most complicated idea of his long, muddled, simply insane life, Alice was also deliberating over a fairly similar and equally troubling idea: should she attend the Card Party? She was not daft, despite what her older, more provincial-minded sister thought. Alice knew that the Mad Hatter did not loathe her, if he had agreed to follow along with the March Hare's suggestion or plan to ask her to the Card Party.

For Alice knew that the Mad Hatter would never ask her of his own free will. He forgot about her half of the time, anyway, if the way he had had to ask her to repeat her name for her first several visits was any indication (she had humored him for a while by telling him different names every time he asked, but after a while it grew tiresome and she ran out of respectable British female names—'Candy' had been her last resort, the name of a infamous woman of questionable employment who haunted the poorer streets of London in downright risqué outfits Alice expect French women to wear). She knew what his agreeing to invitation entailed; that he might, possibly, not likely; maybe kind of bear an affection for her.

*

_End of Part One _

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	2. Foolery Forbidden: Part Two

**Edit: **If anyone's interested, I split the story into two parts because it was a little too long as one.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own "Alice's Adventures in Wonderland" or anything else by Lewis Carroll, nor do I own Disney's "Alice in Wonderland".

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_Part Two_

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Alice was now trying to work out whether or not the affection she felt for the Hatter was courtship-like affection or a friendship-like affection.

But far stranger then the fact that she was actually considering so crazy a hypothesis was the chance that she might like—or the phrase should be, '_was not entirely opposed to_'—the Mad Hatter—that inane tea-addict—courting her. The very thought of it should make her quiver in disgust. But instead she was indeed shivering. From what, she dare not consider from she knew that she was not prepared for the answer. Not yet, at least.

Nodding her head, a bit too eagerly to be considered polite, she conceded. "I thought so. It makes sense. For the way the March Hare was going on about this Madame named Helga—ah! He sounded half in love with her already." Alice brayed nervously, trying to distract the Hatter from the fact she had used the word 'love'. She turned slightly pink, scared that the Hatter would think her forthcoming for using the word.

Then she turned pinker in rage. She had no need to be embarrassed! It was not as if she, Alice Liddell, should transform into a fluttering floozy simply by using the word 'love'. She was not the type to sigh and swoon at romance novels (not that she'd read any, of course, because proper English ladies didn't do such a thing) nor was she the type to curtsy for just any man who demanded it. Straightening up her posture, which had slouched (the horror!), Alice stared at the Mad Hatter head on and added in a steady tone, "I…" and then, loosing her nerve in a marvelous fashion, she said all in an embarrassed, eager, scared rush: "…woulnbposedwoyouroutinmeh!"

Which is to say, in the language of the very embarrassed and very rushed: _ I would not be opposed to your courting me. _It was kind of romantic, considering the girl whose lips the words had flown—or been pushed forcedly—off of.

Alice, with an afterthought, added not-so-very-romantically, "Even though you a mentally unstable, century old loon who has strange obsessions with tea and shiny things and possesses the attention span of a gold fish." She pursed her lips and eyed her tea cup, not quite brave enough to look at the Mad Hatter, for fear of instant pity or rejection to her words.

Speaking of the freckled fellow, he had been busy attempting to puzzle of Alice's previous muddle of a sentence. The poor man was not very clever at any type of riddle, though he was an expert at giving them out, and was having trouble. Therefore, he failed to see the connection between the gibberish possibly being an agreement to Alice not being opposed to him courting her (as if he would ever do such a silly thing, really) and the tacked on insult at the end. So, he did what any man with no attention span whatsoever and no knowledge whatsoever of the female species would do in this situation:

He assumed.

_Assuming _is perhaps the most foolish feature of men in existence. It brings nothing but bad things. If a man _assumes _that his bride is indeed dead, and never considers the fact that she mean actually be under the influence of a sleep potion, he might kill himself. If a man _assumes _he doesn't have feelings for a girl, and then dates a silly blonde witch not worth the time, the bushy-haired girl he actually loves might take great offense.

If a man _assumes _that he's blown his last chance with the woman he loves, then by _assuming _that he might actually blow his last chance. The point of this is that nothing good ever comes from _assuming_, and that _assuming _is especially dangerous when paired with a male who has not a lick of common sense (aka, the Mad Hatter, who hadn't a sane sense, anyway).

And, of course, we all know that _assuming _makes an _ass _out of _u _and _me_. But while you and I might occasionally suffer slightly from _assuming_, there was no doubt that when the Mad Hatter _assumed_, he landed himself in major trouble.

So, the Mad Hatter _assumed_, to cover up the fact that he couldn't make head or tails of Alice's garbled declaration.

Taking offense at what he _assumed_ was an insult; the Mad Hatter puffed up his chest and glared down angrily at the demure girl before him. "See here, Madam," He started, "If you had no intention of accepting my invitation, then I would have rathered you tell me straight out, not toyed around for a bit to further my embarrassment." Trying to regain his _assumedly_ wounded pride, the Mad Hatter condescendingly looked down his rather large and freckled button nose at Alice, who was gaping quite indecently at him. "I do not know who you learned your manners from, only that they must have been most barbaric indeed."

This was an insult of the greatest degree. Alice puffed up instantly, going defensive. Her governess might have been mean and incredibly austere, but the old lady had been the best in all of England! For the Hatter to say that—especially after Alice had said such a forward and personal, though admittedly rushed remark—was both intolerable and inexcusable.

"Well, if you didn't want me to accompany you, why did you invite me?" She retorted hotly, glaring fiercely at the Mad Hatter. She stood up, pushing back her chair roughly. "If you had no intention of escorting me or validating your invitation, I would have rather you revoked it immediately then put me through this—_this_—this breach in etiquette!" Frowning widely, her brows drawn together, Alice glared fiercely at the Mad Hatter. She wanted very much to leave, but couldn't bring herself to do it for some abstract reason unclear to her.

To the Mad Hatter, in one moment he had been self-righteously angry, and in the next Alice was indignantly angry. It was all very confusing, even to a man whose brain was wired non-logically and was quite "insane in the membrane" (as he had so elegantly described before). But he knew enough to know that if he let Alice go now, something would change between them irrevocably, something important. He didn't waste time puzzling whatever this important "thing" between them was. He held out a hand as Alice made a move to leave.

"No! Wait…that was," He searched for an appropriate word, "stupid of me." He settled on, quite crassly. Alice looked mildly, pacified, if only because he had insulted himself at her benefit. He sighed, crossing his arms across his chest and standing up out of his chair. The Mad Hatter may be a male, but hubris he did not possess much of (well, depending on the situation). And he knew that it was he who was at fault in this situation. "Listen, Miss Liddell, I misunderstood you." He apologized, bowing his head, his hat remaining firmly seated upon his snow white curls.

Alice gave an unladylike snort and crossed her own arms across her chest, stubbornly refusing to look at the Mad Hatter. "That's an understatement." She murmured audible enough for the Hatter to hear.

He nodded in self-sacrificial agreement, and continued, "I'll try not to be redundant, but here's how it is: I would like for you to be my accomplice. That entails that you and I shall together attend the Queen's Card Party, as _friends_." The Mad Hatter ignored the regretful pang he felt at the word. He stared beseechingly at Alice, mentally pleading for her to at least look at him. "Please, Al—Miss Liddell, have mercy. I overreacted. I would very much like to be reconciled," He admitted, unadulterated. He genuinely meant it, Alice sensed. Despite herself and her better reason, she was oddly touched.

Alice, at last worn down, relented. She brought her chin down from the air and glanced at the Mad Hatter. "I suppose…" She said slowly, thinking it over, "that I shall forgive you. You were mistaken, but it is a human trait, and that is excuse enough." She tossed her hair over her shoulder, sounding more confident and sure of herself now and how to act. "Yes, all is well again. And I accept your invitation to be your accomplice at the Queen of Hearts' Card Party Mr. Ma…Hatter." She corrected herself, shyly smiling at the Mad Hatter. Her ridged posture relaxed minutely, and she carefully stepped back over to the table, and seated herself on the stool opposite of the still-standing Mad Hatter.

There was a silence that followed. But, amazingly, it was neither stilted nor awkward. It was, quite plainly, comfortable. Alice stirred her tea idly; her eyes following a butterfly's obscure path across the sky, watching its bread-wings flutter lightly along with the wind. The Mad Hatter contented himself by rotating amusements; sometimes he would observe Alice and think semi-rational thoughts about their relationship. In the next moment or when he feared he would be caught staring by the person of his attention and who occupied his thoughts, he would entertain himself by throwing breadcrumbs at the drowsy Dormouse.

Both of them found simple pleasure in these pastimes, and felt none of the restricting tension that had clouded their previous meetings.

It was to this atmosphere that a smug-looking March Hare arrived into the Mad Tea Party Garden. The Hare, a spring in his step, walked obliviously past Alice, waved at the Mad Hatter, and continued on to his usual spot some four-score chairs down the left side of the table. He had to stop in bewilderment, backtrack, and stare at Alice before his numbed and halting mind could accept what his overwrought senses were telling him: the Mad Hatter and Alice were sitting peacefully, not arguing—which was why the March Hare hadn't noticed her before.

Usually if Alice was anywhere near the Hatter, they would find something to disagree on, no matter if it was the day's weather forecast or arguing William Shakespeare and the mockery that surrounded him (the Mad Hatter, surprisingly, was a huge fan of the nickname "Willy" for the famous playwright, while Alice was most definitely not). The March Hare, gaping, approached Alice cautiously, as if he was afraid she would spontaneously combust at any moment.

"Alice…?" The March Hare questioned timidly. "Is that really you?" He reached out with a shaking paw and gently poked Alice in the shoulder. That broke her blissful trance and she whipped her head around, her long golden hair striking the March Hare smack in the nose. "Ouch!" He shouted, but was promptly shushed by a severely glaring Alice. She held a finger up to her mouth for good measure, dead serious.

The March Hare quivered underneath her might, and she relented a bit, pointing in explanation up at the sky. The March Hare, uncertain, slowly looked up, not quite sure what exactly would be in the sky. He just hoped it wasn't another one pranks, like the time the Mad Hatter had strung his under garments along with the Chinese lanterns—the day the Hare's mother had come for afternoon tea! Oh, his mother had never let him live it down, especially because of the pattern on his under garments.

But all thoughts of awkward holiday visits and polka-dotted under garments vanished as the March Hare laid eyes on the amazing sight above the Mad Tea Party.

Dancing above them in the air was a whole flock—a gaggle? A pack?—of butterflies. But these were not the bulky, bread-winged ones. No, these butterflies had silky wings that billowed in the wind like scarves and were so large it made the insects' bodies seemed nonexistent. It looked like someone had loosened forty-some breathtakingly beautiful scarves into the sky. All of them were different, rich colors that stood out in the light sky. Plum purple, scarlet, gold, silver, copper, dusty pink, magenta, periwinkle, turquoise, fuchsia, ostentatious beige, orange, lime green, white blond, pepper, ruby red, sapphire blue, forest green—they all wove in and out in the sky in an un-choreographed, graceful dance that somehow almost brought the March Hare to tears.

As it was, his eyes watered and he had to sniff deeply once. Alice watched, refusing to let her jaw drop but it was in vain, for her mouth made an 'O' shape in awe. The Mad Hatter's eyes never left one of the scarf-butterflies, one that was a particular shade of blue. Lighter then robin's eye blue, darker then sky blue, with a shade of indigo, it was a nice in between that just so happened to, coincidentally of course, be that color of Alice's eyes.

The dance of the butterflies went on for some time, but it felt like only a minute later, the unearthly insects were taking flight into the wind. All the colors slowly drifted away, carried off, and left an empty blue sky that seemed empty without the bright colors. The rich pallet of colors made everything else appear dull in comparison, and as Alice turned her eyes away, letting them fall unconsciously wherever they pleased, she found herself staring in a shade of blue-green so piercing, it was even more stunning then any of the butterflies had been.

She started when she realized she wasn't looking at a teapot or fancy spoon or the embroidery on the tablecloth, but deeply into the Mad Hatter's eyes. She turned her gaze away, a light dusting of pink falling across her cheeks in embarrassment that he had caught her watching.

The March Hare observed this all, neutral, from the sidelines and had to repress a victorious grin. He had known inviting Alice to be his colleague's accomplice had been the right thing to do. One day, far, far, _far _into the future, the two would thank him for this. Maybe. The March Hare was an optimistic little rodent.

Clapping his paws together to dispel the sudden tight, tension-filled atmosphere—so different from when he had first entered, and so far from the tension that had been attributed to Alice's previous visits—he asked in a light, bemused voice: "So, my dear Miss Liddell, as Hatter here told you of the scandals of the previous Card Parties?" His ears twitched in anticipation of the many hilarious and lurid stories to come.

As expected, Alice shot the Mad Hatter a cheated look, as if the big-hat-wearing fellow had purposely withheld the stories from her. She turned her back on the Hatter to answer the March Hare. "No, he has not." She replied in a voice that rang out indignantly. "But perhaps you will deign to tell me, Mr. March Hare?" She lifted up a slender wrist and drew her hair together to sweep it over one shoulder, slowly. The overall effect was quite pretty, especially when seen from behind, and it was evident that the Mad Hatter had realized this, from the way he turned pink—either from anger or embarrassment, it was hard to tell.

So the March Hare began to talk away the afternoon, with the Mad Hatter occasionally putting his two cents in and Alice making critical or questioning comments every now and then; she always had something today to say after the Mad Hatter spoke. While the two might have reached a strange sort of neutrality, they weren't completely cured of their rivalry. The rest of the afternoon however was spent enjoyably, Alice and the Mad Hatter sneaking looks when either thought the other wasn't paying attention. The March Hare had to restrain himself several times from pointing out the obvious change in his two friends' behavior towards each other.

The sound of sweet laughter rang out around the garden, as the Chinese lanterns began to softly glow as the sun dimmed, casting their magnificent colors all over the table, almost in reminiscent honor of the incredible, once-in-a-lifetime butterflies.

In this setting, it was obvious to see the safer, saner side of Wonderland. The normal, relaxed setting was so normal, that it was curious. If Wonderland was a bit sane, did that mean the rest of the world was a bit insane? But as the sun set and three-and-a-half moons rose, one of them smiling with a familiar disconcerting catlike grin; the Mad Hatter demanded that Alice stay and see him catch a puce-light-up ladybug, the doubts of Wonderland's sanity returned comfortably.

-

The day dawned gloriously, the sun ablaze in a brilliant orange-red color that flooded the Mad Tea Party Garden. It shaded everything yellow, making the overlong table look quite cozy and homey. Animals and creatures were just shaking the sleep out of their eyes, beginning to call out into the morning with loud screeches and soothing squawks.

The effect of this calm morning was ruined by a defiantly loud and flustered voice shouting, "OH MY! TODAY'S THE DATE! I'M LATE, I'M LATE!" There were a series of crashes, the sound of a deep _thud _as something hit the ground, and then the worried, hurried pace of someone who has overslept and has to be quick to make up for much lost time.

The Mad Hatter barged into the garden, swinging the gate open so hard the hinges carried it onwards until it smacked against another section of the picket fence. His face was red with exertion as he attempted to sprint over to the table while slipping his brown dress shoes onto his left foot. He succeeded in looking like a fool, hopping over to the table quite ridiculously on one large, dress-shoe clad foot.

A small snicker rose from behind a tall, imposing armchair, echoing around the whole garden and disturbing the peaceful quiet of the early morning. The Mad Hatter froze, halfway to the table, revealing that he had yet to slip his right arm into his shiny, new orange coat. Slowly, he pushed his purple-socked foot into his shoe. Standing up straight, he stepped forward and with three long legged strides was standing next to the Tea Party Table.

The Hatter paused, and carefully pushed his right arm through his sleeve. Adjusting his cufflinks, he peered around the back of the armchair from which the snicker had originated.

His first impression was of a wheat-golden color that overwhelmed his sight.

His second, clearer impression left him both speechless and breathless and feel something warm trickle from his freckled nose down to his pale toes.

Alice Liddell was seated in the armchair, hands folded neatly in her lap. Her eyes were watching the path of a pig's flight across the sky. All this was normal. What she was wearing, however, was most decidedly _not_. She was outfitted in a light lavender dress, one that was tightly tied with a purple sash across her waist. It fell down to her ankles in a cascade of skirts. Above her waist, it was as formfitting as decently possible, low cut—revealing her collarbone—and adventurous. The sleeves reached down to her forearms, but were made of a translucent purple material that showed the outline of her shoulders beneath. The Hatter sucked in an unsteady breath, suddenly unsure of himself. Her hair was tucked into a neat braided bun, kept in place by silver, glittering, butterfly-shaped clips.

She was unquestionably beautiful. And she was _his _accomplice.

That revelation hit him suddenly, and he found himself without words.

"Mr. Hatter?" Alice inquired to his well-being, jolting him back to reality. Her tone indicated that she'd been questing after his attention for quite some time. She sighed through her nose and continued to ask, "Hatter? Are you alright?" Alice reached up a hand to pat his shoulder, but the Mad Hatter suddenly jerked, aware of the world once again. His head turned, right into the path of Alice's hand, and then she was cupping his cheek gently. They both increasingly noticed the close proximity between them, and were quick to fall back, loosing ground.

There was silence, more forced then the one that had happened the day before, and leagues more uneasy. Finally, the Mad Hatter worked up the guts to say conversationally, "You look…" His voice stopped, and he had to try again, "Your dress is…" Growing frustrated, he continued, "You really are quite…"

Struggling against his traitorous throat, which refused to compliment Miss Liddell with the flowery words that usually flowed on his tongue so easily, the Hatter managed to spit out, "Scrumptious." And then looked quite cross with himself. There were over a million adjectives in the English language, and others besides in other tongues, and all he could say was _scrumptious_? He mentally prepared himself for the verbal berating that was surely to come from Alice.

But Alice was caught up in her own traitorous thoughts. The Mad Hatter was wearing the same outfit, as ever, but it looked better, cleaner, and definitely more attractive. They defined his shape better, did his muscular legs and chest justice. She eyed his slender waist with nothing short of satisfaction.

The Mad Hatter was surely an attractive man, for all he was a bit odd, and he was _her _accomplice. She inwardly flushed at her forward thoughts, glad that the Hatter did not have the privilege of reading minds. Speaking of the tea-guzzler, she wandered her eyes over his lanky form once again, wondering when he had ceased to be shorter then her.

Alice contemplated several unpractical theories before she settled on not thinking about it at all. It was Wonderland logic, and would only succeed in confusing her further. Besides, she liked her men tall. _Oh, drat!_ She mentally scolded herself for thinking such things, especially about the Mad Hatter, who until recently had been the bane of her existence. Then she realized that the Hatter had spoken.

And yes, the word scrumptious was not very complimentary in this situation, but it was an Alice-situation, and thus it worked. Alice was more then touched at the genuine awe and wonder in the Mad Hatter's tone and eyes, and it made her flush down to the roots of her hair. Perhaps her sister had been right, that the sash had been the right thing to do. Feeling incredibly self-conscious and realizing she had yet to answer the Mad Hatter, Alice retorted in kind, "And you look very dashing, Mr. Ma—Hatter." The name rolled off of her tongue, and for once she did not waste time thinking on how strange a name it was, but instead over the peculiar character to which the name belonged.

The Mad Hatter seemed to catch her informal use of his name and he smiled delightedly. His buck teeth were rather prominent in his proud grin, but Alice found it endearingly charming and quirky rather then strange or ugly. The Hatter bowed and extended his hand to the seated girl. "Shall we begin our journey to the location of the Card Party?" He said wordily, suck in his bowing position, waiting for Alice to accept or reject his gesture. He was following all the proper guidelines of etiquette—or at least the ones he could remember, anyway.

Alice nodded daintily and gracefully stood up, her skirts rippling around the motion. The action of nodding appeared even more graceful, thanks to her up-do, and Alice relished the feeling of the light, cool breeze on her bare neck. She smiled sweetly up at the Mad Hatter.

"We shall," She intoned before slipping her hand into his. It was almost laughable, the difference in seize between his large, gloved hand and her small, bare one. But Alice knew that his hands were quick and nimble, from the way he had countless times before poured tea out from their pots at impossible angles, and never managing to spill even a drop.

Alice added as an afterthought, remembering how frantic the Mad Hatter had been, attempting to make up for his late start, "Though I do hope we arrive on time." She said this as they started to walk, arms linked, out of the garden via the white picket gate.

The Mad Hatter, without breaking his long, slow stride looked down at her, his white brows furrowed together almost comically. "And why would this be one of your worries?" He questioned, gesturing with his free hand at the oddly shaped woods around them. "The Wonderland is very easy to navigate, so there is a better chance of us being atrociously early then unforgivably late!" He pointed at their feet, where a path of black-and-white checkered grass had somehow appeared. "Added to that fact, the Queen herself has made absolutely sure we shall not be led astray, for fear of missing out on her party."

Alice frowned slightly, perplexed. The Mad Hatter stared at the adorable expression for a moment, and then realized she was talking and that he should be paying attention, which he did, albeit regretfully. "…times I am here, I become lost so easily! It's so unfair." Alice finished in a mildly whining, frustrated tone. S

He glanced over at the Mad Hatter, seeking sympathy, and the Hatter nodded and made a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat. "My point being, I try to follow a path that leads somewhere, but it almost always ends up taking me leagues away from where it's supposed to!" She vented further, working herself up. Ever since the first time Alice had entered Wonderland, she had considered the lack of directions a major hindrance.

The Mad Hatter, pulling Alice closer to him so that they could sidestep a rather badly placed, puce colored tree stump, hummed lightly as he considered Alice's words. "Well, there's your problem." He said at length, scratching his nose absently with his free hand. "You solidly believe that one path can only lead to one place," he continued on quickly before Alice could interrupt, "when, it actual factuality, there is only one path in Wonderland that leads everywhere, and many paths that all lead to one place, and in un-reality there is no path at all." His voice had changed to erratic, bouncy tone that he adopted when speaking of the logic (or rather lack therefore of) of the Wonderland. It was a tone that had appeared many, many times during Alice's first visits. But as Alice had continually returned, the tone had slowly been tucked away, just as the Mad Hatter had apparently grown taller.

Then the Mad Hatter added, in the drawling, grand voice Alice had come to know and unwillingly grow fond of, "See? It's impossible to really get lost here, because your destination always finds you, as long as you know where not to look for it." For emphasis, he turned to look at her, grinning widely. "After all, if it wasn't for this particular quirk of Wonderland, we'd've never met. Oh, and what a shame that would be!" He exclaimed woefully exaggerated, placing his free hand over his forehead like he was about to faint.

For his drama, he received a soft giggle from Alice, which instantly made his answering smile resplendent. The Mad Hatter then stopped his antics, giving Alice time to swallow everything he had told her. He knew that as a girl raised to believe in gravity (ha, as if such a silly, restraining thing existed!), north was north (he didn't even want to get into right- and left-south-north-first-easts), and the world was round (he had many times almost fallen over the edge, thank you very much), Alice would have some trouble even half-accepting the workings of Wonderland, let alone grow comfortable with them.

Alice bit her lip thoughtfully as she mused over this strange answer and the dozens of questions it raised. But worst of all was the large, gaping hole in opened up in her, biting at her: curiosity. It never lay low for long, as if was Alice's main vice and virtue, however contradictory that may seem. She opened her mouth several times to inquire a question, but closed her mouth each time. She knew that asking her questions would only make the Mad Hatter talk in that dratted tone again, as well as confuse her further. And today, the Card Party was supposed to be a lovely, unspoiled event, with her and the Mad Hatter getting along famously.

Alice decided that, despite her curiosity, she didn't want to risk that. A few weeks ago, she would not have thought twice about annoying the Mad Hatter. Alice shoved that troubling thought away; determine to dwell on the pleasant present. So she rested her free arm on her hip and said in a determinedly petulant tone, "Are we there yet? I thought you said the Queen wanted to make sure everyone arrived. At this rate, we shall not be there until the…negative fiftieth-fourth hour on the seventy-second day…and a half!" Alice could be creative when she finished, and her strained joke paid off.

The Mad Hatter burst how into shocked guffaws, loud and boisterous. His laughter was so contagious, Alice found herself relaxing, joining in with her more ladylike, contained snickering. Their arms were locked together, and Alice found her laughter growing so severe she had to clutch at the Hatter's arm desperately to remain standing. She bent over slightly, her midsection hurting from the lack of oxygen.

The Mad Hatter was doubled over, laughing hard, his giggles occasionally broken by the odd hiccup. Every time Alice sobered up, like clockwork the Hatter would let loose a high-pitched hiccup, and Alice would helplessly break down again.

It was all very silly and immature, and against everything Alice had been taught that proper, well-bred English women did _not _do—but Alice didn't give a flying wit's end about that. She was in Wonderland, with the Mad Hatter, holding his arm, and everything was intoxicating and wonderful and **right** for the first time in her life. For the first time in a long time, Alice felt like spinning around and turning a summersault, like she had as a girl.

It took them quite a while to capture themselves again and regain control. They had kept walking, even while laughing, and the Mad Hatter announced suddenly in the bright, sunny light that they were almost there. He apologized for taking so long to answer the question she had asked before all that laughing. Alice let out a snicker, rolling her eyes fondly, and felt warm inside out.

On a whim, feeling refreshed and free, Alice rested her head on the Mad Hatter's tall shoulder, barely reaching it. She felt him stiffen with surprise and almost withdrew, but then he took his arm out of hers and linked it around her waist comfortably. Alice smiled into his shoulder, feeling protected and like herself. She rarely felt this cozy anymore, ever since she had had her tenth birthday, so soon after her first visit to the Wonderland. She felt like nothing could ruin this utterly, heartbreakingly, beautiful moment.

As per usual when Alice was in Wonderland: she was wrong.

"Ain't they just the cutest thangs ya'll ever see?" A heavily accented, gruff voice cooed horrifically from somewhere behind the Mad Hatter and Alice. It was unmistakable, if only because there was one person in Wonderland who's accent changed to various dialects, never staying on one in particular. Alice slowly, almost regretfully the Hatter hoped, removed her head from its perch on his shoulder. He, equally sluggish, brought his hand from around her waist and back to its original spot of holding her arm near her wrist.

They paused in their stride and stepped to the right side of the path, turning to face whoever had disturbed their almost-romantic moment. Alice tried to control her face, hoping that her murderous mood didn't show. The Mad Hatter made no move to wipe the mildly annoyed look off of his face, hoping that the interlopers would take the hint and kindly remove themselves from his and Alice's presence. But his look disappeared as he recognized the interrupters as his eternal colleague and his eternal colleague somewhat questionable accomplice.

"Why, it's the March Hare," He cried wonderingly, "and with him the unique Dame Helga!" Indeed, it was the March Hare and his interesting accomplice. The March Hare was wearing a stylish jacket over a collared Oxford shirt, with a bowtie so tight it was turning his face and neck slightly red under the carefully combed brown fur.

Dame Helga was clad in a rather tight, black leather dress with a supremely revealing slit up one thigh and an extremely furry collar It was not something you would expect the grumpy cook to wear, and neither was it something that was entirely flattering on her. She had, of course, left her hair in its severe bun, but lost the hair net and changed things up by actually having a ribbon in her hair, the Hatter noticed belatedly. It was unfortunate that the ribbon was an awful neon puke green, but there were worse colors. Her chin mole seemed more prominent then usual (Alice could've sworn the last time she had seen the cook, the mole had been on the tip of her nose).

The Mad Hatter refrained further, not-as-nice thoughts on Dame Helga's misguided outfit choice and continued, "Ah, and the two of you must surely be on your way to the Card Party also?"

Dame Helga, who seemed to be in a jolly mood again, as she had made the previous comment that had ruined the Hatter and Alice's 'moment', beamed—or tried to, but only succeeding in looking like a troll with bad diarrhea. "Yeah, we are going there." Abruptly her face darkened, "I's beat Her Mad Majesty into dough at croquet this time." Her hand, which the Mad Hatter suddenly noticed had been encased with the March Hare's, squeezed. The March Hare, the brave soul, didn't utter a sound, though his facial expression told a thousand words about the grip Dame Helga had and was unconsciously demonstrating on his fragile paw.

"Yes," The March Hare agreed. His voice was very small and quavering. "We are bound to the Card Party. We've had a rather eventful trip so far. A run in with Tweedle-dee and Tweedle-dum, who were both un-invited and quite cross about it. They give you their respective greetings, Hatter. They were rather…unkind to the darling Dame Helga. Yes, well, after that we managed to walk through the Flower Patch, and they had a few _dozen _unkind things to say Helga—" The March Hare's voice broke on the last syllable when, against all possibilities, Dame Helga's grip tightened. "—and me. Mostly Dame Helga," he added thoughtfully, just as the Cheshire Cat himself appeared atop of Dame Helga's head.

"Farewell," The Cheshire Cat said in greeting, his grin literally from ear to ear, stretching almost horrifically. Dame Helga realized suddenly that the odd cat was perched on top of her head, and released an unholy shriek. She reached up with a waving hand—the other still clutching the March Hare's paw—in an attempt to bat the Cheshire Cat off of her head.

It failed, as the Cheshire Cat disappeared before her hand got above her rather large and square shoulders. He reappeared, still grinning, on the ground near Alice's foot. Dame Helga glowered at the cat and proceeded to mutter angrily about dratted, magical cats. The March Hare sighed with audible relief when Dame Helga released his hand to smooth back her hair.

"Hullo, Mister Cheshire Cat," Alice said wearily, already tired of the elusive cat's presence. She tightened her loose grip on the Mad Hatter's arm, hoping he would take the hint and extricate them from this sticky situation. The Mad Hatter didn't. Inwardly sighing, Alice nudged him gently with her elbow. Still, the Mad Hatter grinned stupidly and obliviously in no real direction at all.

Alice, this time rolling her eyes, prodded him sharply in the side with her elbow. Finally, it seemed the Hatter took the hint. "Ah, salutations, Cheshire Cat," He announced grandly, swinging down low as he could with Alice's arm linked with his. His hat, again, did not disengage from his head. "I hope you are feeling well to-day? Or should I venture a guess that you are feeling most—"

"Horrific?" The Cheshire Cat volunteered, somehow settling his hind paws on top of his head. His luminous yellow eyes glowed with hidden mischief. "Claustrophobic? Pessimistic? Wonderfully sick to my stomach?" He purred, rolling over onto his side and turning his head up so far that it brushed his back. He winked at Helga, who shrieked, not having much experience with the infamous Cat, and added, "I am feeling rather peachy keen to-day, thank you very much for asking. And may I inquire as to where you two lovely couples are headed off to?"

It was obvious from the cat's tone that he knew _exactly _where they were going, despite the question. The Mad Hatter and the March exchanged furtive looks, secretly used to this charade, as they and the Cheshire Cat had performed this skit every year without fail. Alice, however, was new to this act. She did—with Herculean effort—keep her pert tongue in check, knowing that a smart answer would only further entice the Cheshire Cat to act even more annoying (if that was possibly; but as it was Wonderland, anything was possible).

Dame Helga had stormed off somewhere, probably in an attempt to futilely escape the Cheshire Cat. Alice fervently wished she could do the same, but well-bred manners and a cooling temper had her rooted where she stood. "We," She said primly, "are bound to a party we have been expressively invited to by a sent, proper invitation."

The Cheshire Cat grinned broadly at this change in the usual skit, his large smile falling off his face and rolling away towards the March Hare's polished shoe. The rest of the cat disappeared, until only the abandoned grin and a random left forefront paw remained.

It was that disembodied grin that grew impossibly wider as Alice continued proudly, "And may I also inquire to where you are traveling, Mister Cheshire Cat?" She tossed her head out of idiosyncrasy, used to having her long hair to flick over her shoulder. Her tight, braided bun (marginally more attractive then Dame Helga's impersonation of a certain princess from another galaxy far, far away) left no hair to flip, but the gesture was still impressive nonetheless. "Surely you must not be destined for the same place as us?"

"Surely not," The Cheshire Cat agreed, his wide grin disappearing. But his feet left rather obvious footprints on the dusty dirt road. Alice, the Mad Hatter, and the March Hare watched in confusion and apprehension as the Cheshire Cat's footprints began to loop and turn circles in some unknown pattern. After a long moment, when it appeared that the Cheshire Cat was either ignoring them or pretending to be "invisible", Alice broke the silence.

"I think," She said in an utterly befuddled tone, pointing with her free hand (the other hand was gripped in the Mad Hatter's comfortably; honestly, there was something no unlike a magnetic attraction between their hands) at the Cheshire Cat's footprints, which were—surprisingly—beginning to form what was similar to a sentence. "That Mr. Cheshire Cat is trying to tell us something." Alice's tone indicated that she thought actually _saying _what he wanted to tell them would be easier for all and appreciated, but she didn't right out say it. That would be quite indecent and improper. Alice resisted the urge to look at the man with the large hat beside her, knowing that her mother would faint from the scandal of their clasped hands.

"Hmm," The Mad Hatter rumbled, and Alice nearly trembled at the sensation that brought via their intertwined fingers. Her traitorous mind entertained the thought of laying her head against his chest while he made such a guttural sound. She shoved such frivolous thoughts away, flushing slightly. The Mad Hatter, unaware of what mental chaos he was wreaking, peered at the ground, his bright eyes narrowed in concentration. The Cheshire Cat's footsteps were slowly spelling something out. The Mad Hatter attempted to translate the footprints into some semblance of letters of the proper English language.

_F _the footprints spelt out, the stem of the letter mildly squished. The Mad Hatter mentally patted himself of the back for figuring that one out. Beside him, her hand loosely clasped in his, Alice was biting her lips and staring at the disappearing cat's footprints intently. Obivously, she had yet to decode a single letter, let alone deduce what the Cheshire Cat was doing.

The Mad Hatter's attention was drawn away from his fair companion as the footprints rapidly began to make sense. There was an _O_, and a _K_, followed by a _HER_ and then a series of exclamation points that were quite unneeded; as was the large arrow pointing vaguely in the direction of Alice's feet. The Mad Hatter's nose scrunched up as he stared at the odd, vagabond collection of letters in confusion. Then, suddenly, as the invisible cat erased part of the _O _and added a _C_, the Hatter's eyes grew as wide as saucers.

"F—," Alice stared delicately, beginning to understand the Cheshire Cat's odd code, but was cut off suddenly as the Mad Hatter's hands slipped over her eyes; gingerly, of course, he did not want to ruin her carefully applied makeup. She blinked, finding her eyesight blocked by a close-up view of familiar, immaculate white gloves. She turned her head, and in doing so rubbed her cheek against the gloves.

Alice found she had to restrain a surprised, pleased sigh. The gloves were so soft! Much softer then that satin nightgown her sister had handed down to her, or the silk pillows that lay meticulously on the couch in her father's study. Alice closed her eyes, her irritation at being robbed of her sight dissipating as she surmised that the Mad Hatter must have a reasonable explanation for why he had deemed fit to block her sight.

"Um," The Mad Hatter stuttered, quite nervous as to what to say without his words being taken as too crass for a young woman. "The Cheshire Cat can be…_vulgar _and _very _inappropriate when not in put in check." Keeping his hands over Alice's eyes, he hurriedly used his large shoes to brush dirt over the Cheshire Cat's footprints, making the crude statement disappear quickly. The Mad Hatter shot a dour glare at the disembodied grin that was turning around the corner before he removed his hands.

Alice's gaze immediately searched for the footprints she had started to translate before. Seeing that they were gone, replaced by a small cloud of dust, she turned to observe the Mad Hatter's feet. His dress shoes were now besmirched with a thin layer of dust. Sighing and resisting the every tempting urge to roll her eyes, Alice's hand found his and she tugged him forward. "That interesting situation behind us," She announced grandly, closing her eyes and sticking her nose in the air (the Hatter pulled her an inch to the right so that she did not trip over a tree root). "Let's you and I continue on our way."

The Mad Hatter grinned, relieved that Alice didn't harbor any resentment for his handling—or therefore lack of—of the ever annoying and cryptic Cheshire Cat. If it was possible to permanently separate the Cat's head from its body, it would have been done long before, with all of the Wonderlanders there to cheer with relief and triumph.

The Cheshire Cat rarely won over any friends (the exception being the Gray Knight, who loved being miserable so much that he welcomed the Cheshire Cat's presence). "Yes," He breathed, standing up straight and brushing off some nonexistent dust from his coat. He eyed his shoes critically, and then sighed, knowing a lost cause when he saw one. "Let's,"

-

A few words must be said about the manner of the Queen of Hearts' relationships with all of Wonderland and its people. The Queen was mildly reasonable, for the most part, when she was a) beheading someone, b) beating someone at croquet, c) yelling at or threatening someone, or d) putting someone up against a rigged trial. Though the Queen would never admit that any of these things made her happy, it was evident in the way she became slightly tolerable (or more tolerable then usual, which was still saying something) when any of these things occurred.

These cruel things brought the Queen pleasure, and properly displayed what kind of character she was in possession of. Her character repulsed everyone she came in contact with, or inspired a brutal worship that was found in her Card Guards.

It took a very astute person to observe the real reason many Wonderlanders and visitors to Wonderland found the Queen of Hearts extremely dislikable. That real reason was, simply, the Queen let her emotions rule her. These emotions tended to be rage, anger, or malice—but the bottom line was the Queen of Hearts was a very crude, straightforward person. This almost animalistic nature set people on edge because in all of us there is a subconscious desire to let go of all of the silly manners, polite words, and faked laughter and just show the world what we really think.

And the more a person played nice-nice and all polite, the stronger that urge was. It was that person who hated the Queen of Hearts the most. Because while the Queen could freely shout "OFF with your head!" that person was limited to smile tightly and do little else. Alice Liddell, obviously, was a prime example of one of "those" people.

Alice would never, ever willingly let her proper raising and manners go, even though they caged her. And Alice loathed nothing more in existence then having her curious, free nature boxed up. Alice subconsciously recognized this every time she looked at the Queen of Hearts, and directed her misplaced anger at the Queen.

Of course, the way the Queen completely disregarded or cut off the head of anything or anyone she deemed unimportant as worthless didn't help matters much. Especially when most are rather opposed to having their heads dismembered from their bodies.

-

After several short encounters with deplorably rude uninvited people and a very quick, close encounter with a miniature Jabberwocky, Alice and the Mad Hatter arrived at what the latter claimed to be the entrance to the Card Party. While the Mad Hatter went on about how every annual Card Party he would stop and admire the entrance, Alice tuned him out and instead studied the foreboding-looking entrance. She had been expecting to enter the Card Party through the familiar plant maze, wherein the Mad Hatter would somehow navigate the labyrinth of twists and turns and they would somehow come out in the middle of a refined, outdoor ballroom. But nothing had prepared her for the sight in front of her.

It was sandwiched between two thick trees, not unlike the trees she had first seen the Cheshire Cat nestled between (the thought of the dratted Cat had Alice frowning), and was quite inconspicuous. Alice would have missed it without a second thought; after all, one would hardly expect a water fall to be the entrance to a regal ball?

As Miss Liddell eyed the small waterfall with increasing doubt, her hand gripped the Mad Hatter's tighter. She no longer was even pretending to listen to the hat wearing man. She was concentrating on the matter of how to pass through the water fall while remaining dry. She glanced down at her dress, now regretting her choice of light purple. What if it went see-through?

She paled, remembering the scandal her cousin Candice had once caused by wearing a fine white silk gown that had been rendered see-through by the bright lights of the ballroom. Oh, Alice's mother and aunt had raved for weeks on end! All Liddell females were then banned from even wearing a white bow, in the hopes that the scandal would quickly be forgotten and never be repeated.

Alice resisted a snort, remembering how she had caught two lads on the streets snickering over it a month later. Her amusement stopped in its tracks as a sudden image of her, in a dripping see-through dress, standing in front of the Queen, the Mad Hatter, the March Hare, and everyone else she had met or not met in Wonderland appeared in the front of her mind. Alice paled even more.

"…so my Uncle Hubert said. But, alas, he has crossed over to the sane side and now resides in Portugal." The Mad Hatter finished his long story; clasping Alice's hand tightly when he realized her had gone slack. He noticed how pale she was, and mentally debated if he should ask her if she was alright. He quickly decided that showing concern would only make Alice revert back to her stuffy, proper English self and the Hatter couldn't stand that. So he grinned widely and gestured with his free hand towards the waterfall. "Shall we continue on?" He questioned playfully, making a goofy face that highlighted his buck teeth.

Alice swallowed hard, eyes so intent on the waterfall she missed the worried spark that briefly lit in the Mad Hatter's eyes. "We shall," She replied hoarsely, and without her usual bite. She docilely let the Mad Hatter lead her on towards the waterfall. With each step her feet grew heavier, her steps more reluctant. Alice now almost regretted accepting the Mad Hatter's invitation of accomplice. What was being the victim of a scandal worth? Was anything worth subjecting herself to being the bunt of cruel jokes at the hands of some of the most insane, twisted creatures ever created? Was anything worth having the foul, beastly Queen of Hearts free to mock her?

Then: a light pressure on her hand. Alice, surprised, glanced down. She saw the Hatter's hand, holding hers, but a gloved thumb was slowly stroking the back of her hand. Her eyebrows furrowed and she looked up at the Hatter, perplexed. She hadn't realized he had noticed her worry. Alice looked at him, intending to catch his worried gaze and sharply correct his needless worries, but the Hatter wasn't looking at her.

He was gazing up at the sky as if he didn't notice her eyes on him. From the way his neck was uncomfortably craned up at the sky at an extremely odd and unconvincing angle, it was obviously apparent to Alice that the Hatter was foolishly trying to pull one over her. She rolled her eyes slightly—after all, he wasn't watching her, right? But, despite herself, a small smile instantly appeared on her face, her thoughts traveling down warmer roads.

Her reassurance disappeared the second the Mad Hatter stopped their approach towards the waterfall. He turned to Alice and bowed down comically low. He swept off his hat as well, in a tidy and practiced motion. Alice raised a brow, impressed and slightly surprised.

The Mad Hatter rarely displayed manners, but it was now known to her that while he did not use them often, the Hatter did have them. Making a mental note to have a long talk with the Hatter about putting his manners to use, Alice daintily stepped forward. To her credit, her face did not betray her worry. Alice stepped forward, her head held high, determined to fall into disgrace gracefully (no matter how oxymoronic that seemed).

But as Alice passed through the waterfall, it was not water she felt permeating her clothes and soaking her carefully arranged hair. In fact, she felt…nothing. Her closed eyes shot open and she looked intensely at the water crashing around her. It was then that she noticed that the water was not making any noise whatsoever. Reaching up with a hand, she paused mid-step and clawed her hand through the water, intending to cup her hands and capture some of the water. But her hands came away empty. Alice looked upwards, and was shocked at what she saw: a cavern's roof, rising far up high. That was not the shock.

The shock was the way the "water" stopped two feet above Alice's head. The girl's eyes narrowed as she curiously spun in a circle, letting her arms fling out and twist around. Still, no water met her skin. Confused, she even stuck out her tongue, but it met nothing but cool air. Sighing, Alice relaxed and decided that the water must be an illusion of some kind. She continued forward, eager to put this strange occurrence behind her. She emerged into a bright, blinding light. Waiting impatiently for her eyes to adjust, Alice's ears were besieged by loud noises, shouts, and shrill shrieks of laughter. The noises only added to Alice's impatience. She was curious to see what was happening all around her.

"Ah, here we are," A voice said right by her ear. Alice flinched, surprised and turned. Her eyes were able to make out a hazy, blurry green blob that could only be the Mad Hatter's monstrous hat. It was impossible to mistake the hat for anything else. Relieved it was the Mad Hatter and not, say, the White King, Alice smiled brightly at him. When the Mad Hatter spoke again, it was clearly with surprise, as he was not accustomed to dealing with Alice smiling, unprovoked, at him. "W-would you like to enter the Card P-party not?" He asked. He tripped over his words as Alice smiled even bigger.

Alice, meanwhile, was elated that she wasn't a disgraceful, wet mess. She slipped her arm through the Mad Hatter's, her vision slowly returning to her. "Lead the way, Hatter," She said easily, his name flowing off of her tongue. She quite liked the feel of it, even though her mother and sister would both agree that it was not a normal, respectable name. _Dash my mother, _Alice thought viciously, her smile growing wider, _and dash my sister to! I'll do whatever I want, and if that be attending an insane party with an even more insane accomplice, so be it! _She tugged the Hatter forward, leading him despite her earlier words.

With her impaired sight, this was not the smartest idea. The Mad Hatter had to make three daring, risky maneuvers to avoid having Alice topple over a stump, a rock, and singing turtle. Once, the Hatter resorted to lifting her up, as if in a dance, and leaping with her over a small stream that had mysteriously sprung up. The Hatter carried Alice gently, and as if she weighed nothing at all. It was enough to take Alice's breath away and transform her headstrong thoughts to mush. She was then preoccupied with maintaining a respectful distance from the Hatter (but in her mind she was replaying the way he had picked her up at the waist and carried her as he leapt).

The Mad Hatter did not realize that he was the reason for her distracted state of mind. He was simply relieved that Alice wasn't trying to lead him around while she was semi-blind. It seemed now that Alice had calmed down.

The Mad Hatter found himself relaxing. He had been fearful that Alice would resist or carry a grudge at the way he had—without asking—grabbed her and leapt. But it seemed that Alice had taken it in stride. The Mad Hatter was glad. He had attempted to do the same with another young lady before, and she had gone spastic, surprised, and caused the Hatter to drop her into the stream. The Hatter mentally rolled his eyes, remembering how horrible that Card Party had turned out.

He perked up, though, glancing sneakily (or in his impression of "sneakily" which was in reality "obviously") at his fair-faced companion. Alice was caught up in her eyes, her unfocused, far away eyes utterly enchanting to the Mad Hatter. His eyes lingered on her pink, plump lips before he threw his gaze away, flushing lightly. He wasn't even officially courting her yet!

The Mad Hatter froze for a moment, quickly covering up so that Alice didn't notice. He re-thought his last sentence, hesitating over one word in particular: _yet_. The Hatter dry swallowed twice, attempting to regain the easy confidence he had possessed only moments before.

So he did intend to court Alice? He gazed at the girl again, recalling how small she had been when she had first arrived in Wonderland. She had been frantic and scared, but her curiosity had distracted and sidetracked her. The Mad Hatter smiled fondly, his own eyes growing unfocused as he lost himself in memories.

Images drifted past him: Alice, her pristine white apron stain by "spilt" tea; Alice, yelling at the Mad Hatter and waving a scone around threatening; Alice, spinning around as the Hatter grabbed and turned her arm; Alice, smiling challenging up at him; Alice, frowning as she poked the slumbering Door Mouse with a metal spork; Alice, pursing her lips as she thought over a particularly hard riddle; Alice, sitting in one of the Tea Party chairs as if she owned it; Alice, cocking a confidant, arching brow at him; Alice, with a faint, awed smile on her face as she peered up at the dancing butterflies; Alice, dressed up to accompany him; Alice, Alice, Alice trotted around the Mad Hatter's noggin. She was frowning, smiling, shrugging, happy, sad, confused, and—above all—curious.

"Hatter?" said the voice of the young woman occupying his thoughts.

The Mad Hatter blinked and turned his head towards Alice questioningly.

She nodded with her head forward, gracefully signaling that he should direct his gaze forward.

An electric thrill surged through the Mad Hatter at the thought that _she _was _his _accomplice, and that surge may or may not have been tinged with an unknown amount of possession. Both the Mad Hatter and Alice were very stubborn people, especially when it came to love. They would not love easily, but when they did, they would not give it up without a fight. But love was a long way off for the strange pair. Tolerance would be a step up from their current relationship.

The Mad Hatter headed her signal and looked in front of them. Ever since they had gone through the waterfall, they had been walking on a dirt path, surrounding by woods and occasionally broken by a stream. Now in front of them, the dirt path tapered away into a cobblestone path that led up to a ticket booth that would have been at home in front of a circus tent.

Beside the ticket booth was a metal pole that could only be lifted by a button inside the booth. And then, stretching from either side of the booth was a long, tall metal chain link fence to dissuade people from crossing over into the desert land behind the booth without getting their tickets. The Mad Hatter took in the familiar sight and turned to Alice, perplexed as to why this would stump her.

"Yes?" The Mad Hatter inquired in a confused tone. "This is the way to the Card Party. This is the way I go every year."

Alice's brow furrowed. To say she was confused was an understatement. She didn't understand why there was a fence composed of silver, or why there was a strange hut standing in front of them. But if the Hatter said that this was normal, she believed him. Alice blinked. Wait—did she trust him? Already? She resisted the strong impulse to frown. That was absurd. There was no way she could trust the Mad Hatter already. Just last week she had visited, only to have him grab all the tea and run away.

Alice reassured herself by remembering all of the immature actions the Hatter had committed in her presence. There was no way she would—_could _trust someone like that so soon or suddenly. "Of course," Alice said brusquely, starting forward, dragging the Hatter after her. "I knew that."

The Mad Hatter let Alice drag him, enjoying the sensation of having a flustered Alice (he _knew _she had no idea what the ticket booth was) pull him along. She stopped in front of the ticket booth, eyeing it uncertainly. Alice was too proud to ask the Hatter for help. She stood there, her arm limp around the Hatter's as she felt her pride and confidence slip away.

She closed her eyes, wondering how to get herself out of this situation without admitting to her ignorance. The Mad Hatter decided to rescue her, feeling bad for having inflicted this upon her. He fished around in his pocket, pulling out a mildly soggy invitation.

He stepped forward, smoothly freeing his arm from Alice's, and fed the invitation into a slit in the booth's plastic covering. It was instantly grabbed from him without preamble. The Mad Hatter, startled, flinched backwards, almost ramming into an unsuspecting Alice. They both darted to the side before the collision could take place, staring at each other with wide eyes. Alice distantly wondered where all the sound she had heard before had gone.

The sound of light humming broke them from their trance. They glanced towards the booth, where the humming was originating. A grouchy, low voice growled out, "Alright, alright, you're cleared. Have a nice day!"

Alice frowned, detecting the sarcasm in the last sentence, but before she could properly dole out a verbal lashing as punishment, the ground dropped before her feet. Shrieking, she grabbed onto the Mad Hatter, frantic. Blackness overwhelmed her sight. Her screams echoed around them.

Alice felt déjà vu, recalling her first trip to Wonderland, when she fell down the rabbit hole. This thought calmed her, as she remembered that she had survived. The Mad Hatter awkwardly patted her on the back, and Alice realized how indecently she was hugging him. She immediately released the man and stumbled back, crossing her arms to hung herself. She refused to look at the Hatter, though it would have been impossible to see anything in the pitch-black darkness.

Then, as suddenly as it had started, it stopped.

Alice kicked her foot around gently, mightily relieved to feel the firm ground beneath her, even if it was slippery and hard. Alice ignored the texture of the ground, mind on far more important things. She looked up, set on berating the Mad Hatter for not warning her, but found that the words died quietly in her throat; her attention wavered between the beaming Hatter and the scene above him. Alice finally settled on sticking her tongue out at the Hatter before she gave in to the temptation of peering around her in wonder.

All around them was a giant circus tent. Alice had seen pictures of the marvelous, magical circuses that visited the outskirts of her town, but never in real life. She had never imagined being inside one. Alice's mouth popped open as she noticed that the tent was not made of various cloths sewn together, but rather man-seized cards. Slowly, Alice noticed the marble beneath her feet and the strange checkered pattern, the reserving black and white.

Her heart dropped as she looked around, absorbing the throngs of people, the strangely dressed waiters navigating the crowd with ease, and the elevated platform on which two empty thrones sat. Alice realized this was indeed the infamous Card Party. She had spent so much time worrying over if the Hatter's invitation was genuine, and then over the scandal the waterfall could have caused, Alice had completely forgotten to conduct a plan of how she would survive the party itself.

"Let's go greet the Queen." The Mad Hatter said. His face suggested that he loved the idea as much as Alice did. He grimaced, adding, "It's tradition. Not to do so would mean that next we'd be obligated to stand around her or talk to her for more then ten minutes." He held out his arm.

Alice felt a current run through her as she heard the "we" in his words. Did that mean he was going to ask her again next he? Did he presume she would say yes? Alice pushed her troubling, tiring thoughts away. She was determined to have some fun at this Card Party before things went downhill (as they would; it was Wonderland after all). "I agree." She consented, slipping her arm through his.

They slid through the crowd easily, brushing past those they didn't know, nodding to those they did. Alice was fiercely reminded of the few balls her mother and sister had forced her to attend since her coming out ball (which is to say, the ball that introduced her to society).

But instead of having to indignantly hang off of the arm of some old coot or cocky boy, Alice found that she enjoyed having the Mad Hatter lead her around; or rather, she enjoyed pretending to have the Mad Hatter lead her around. Because it was Alice who subtly prodded the Hatter in the direction she wished to go, and it was the Hatter who acted like it was the way he wanted to go.

Alice liked having the control, and the Hatter was all to willing to give the girl what she had been deprived of for most of her life. No one watching for it could have told that Alice was leading. The Mad Hatter was a superb actor, Alice admitted to herself grudgingly, but only when he didn't over exaggerate things.

At one point, the Mad Hatter, taking subtle control, prodded Alice over to the direct of a small table packed with tea cups. Next to the tables the Ace of Spades was handling a giant tea pot, pouring tea generously into the empty cups guests held up to him. The Ace was smiling, chatting lightly with the Walrus. The carpenter, whose quest for the elusive oysters still continued, was no where to be found.

The Hatter gestured towards the Ace of Spades and then held a finger over his mouth in the universal symbol for being quiet. Alice restrained herself from rolling her eyes but nodded, understanding. She had briefly studied the soggy invitation before the Mad Hatter had fed it into the ticket booth, and Alice recalled something about tea and the Ace of Spades. She thought there had been a warning indirectly directed at the Mad Hatter about the tea, but she couldn't remember exactly what the invitation had said. Deciding it was unimportant anyway, she followed the Mad Hatter, their arms linked gently.

The Mad Hatter sneakily grabbed a tea cup off the table, the one on the bottom of the precariously and painstakingly stacked pile. He and Alice watched, barely breathing, as the sky-high pile seemed to waver for a moment, as if trying to decide if it should crash down to earth or not; but the pile righted itself, and the Mad Hatter held his tea cup high into the air in victory. Alice rolled her eyes then, more out of fond amusement then annoyance.

Somehow, it appeared the Mad Hatter was growing on her. God forbid, she thought, watching as the Mad Hatter, slipping his arm out of hers for the moment, snuck behind the Ace of Spades. The Hatter then straightened up, brushing invisible lint off of his jacket, before he tapped the Ace on the shoulder. The Ace of Spades spun around, a companionably smile on his face that dropped when he recognized the Hatter. Likewise, the Hatter wore the same distrusting look. Alice, however, knew that the Mad Hatter was acting, as she had seen him grinning ear-to-ear a second earlier.

Alice, hidden from the Ace's view behind the tea cup table, peered around the pile of tea cups just in time to see the Mad Hatter run off with the Ace of Spades' tea pot. Alice shook her head, a smile rising on her face despite herself. She watched the Hatter sprint around the proximity of the garden, weaving through people dangerously; leaving a wake behind him in which the Ace of Spades thundered through, a murderous look flashing in his eyes.

Alice delicately crossed her arms across her chest and waited. She heard what sounded like a brief struggle, and then there was a splash and what sounded like a hookah pipe being extinguished by an awful lot of tea. Then Alice distinctly heard someone drop to their knees and the sounds of the Ace of Spades groveling miserably. Alice heard the Caterpillar's snarky retort to the apology, quite cross his hookah pipe had been drenched.

Alice waited, and then the Mad Hatter appeared. He was slightly out of breath and his bow tie was somewhat out of place. But other then that, he did not have appeared to have just been engaged in a chase and much mischief. He held up the original tea cup he had snatched off the table, showing it to Alice, and then threw it into the crowd (where it knocked off of Jimmy the Lizard's hat and then knocked out the Dodo Bird).

Alice raised her brows at him but did not saying anything. She stepped closer, reaching up with her arms to fix his bow tie. "Mischief," She said primly, her smile taking the bite out of her words, "could almost be taken as a type of foolery, my dear Mr. Hatter."

The Mad Hatter grinned toothily, entirely unashamed of himself. "Ah, almost being the key word, m'dear sugar cube." He waited until Alice finished adjusting his bow tie, and then held out his arm. His eyes were wide and innocent, as if he hadn't just framed the Ace of Spades, and he requested, "Shall we continue?"

Alice, huffing her breath lightly, bit her lip to hide her grin. She slipped her arm into his and they continued to peruse the party. The Queen of Hearts seemed to hover in and out of view, unreachable. Several times they were stopped by people and creatures Alice had met in previous adventures in Wonderland. Alice even stopped to exchange pleasantries with the Gray Knight, who rarely was invited to the Queen of Hearts' parties. He admitted that he had promised to laugh at least twice during the duration of the party. Alice and the Mad Hatter tried very hard to hide their skeptic looks at this announcement.

And then, after what seemed like an era and a few centuries, the Mad Hatter and Alice finally stopped. She glanced at the Hatter, noticing the way he crafted his face into a droll, serious expression. She copied him, arranging her face in the way her sister kept her own perpetually: Alice stuck her upper lip out and dragged her eyebrows down. Figuring that it was as close to her sister's facial default as she could attain, Alice nodded to the Mad Hatter, who grinned wryly back at her before his face fell back into its serious expression.

Then they both turned their faces forward and faced the Queen of Hearts.

The Queen of Hearts, despite several misconceptions and rumors, was not an entirely bad looking woman. She stood at an impressive and imposing seven feet tall, and had flowing black hair and piercing dark eyes. She had a womanly figure that wasn't ashamed of itself—after all, who ate all of the tarts after they had been used as "evidence" in the courtroom?

Her face was, of course, mildly heart shaped, and her lips were blood red. But while these combined features would make any another woman lovely beyond comparison, on the Queen, who furiously shouted out death threats with crazed eyes, it was a menacing beauty that made anyone meeting her for the first time immediately wary. Minstrels and folk-tellers exaggerated this menace, twisting the Queen's beauty into a reflection of her ugly character (needless to say, the Queen now had an instant vendetta at anyone whose job was to tell stories of any kind).

The Queen stared dourly at them. She was wearing large, loose red-and-black checkered robes that were supposed to make her look like a ring leader; in reality, she made a rather convincing moving chessboard. The robes were comically over seized, perhaps in the attempt to add a mysterious air to the Queen's body. It really just looked plain ridiculous.

The Queen seemed to have realized that halfway through the night or something else had put her in a right old foul mood; for she scowled when they approached her. Her scowl grew fierce as, while stepping forward, she almost tripped on the end of her billowing robes. "Speak," She growled at the Mad Hatter and Alice, shoving her crown back roughly on her head, her already souring mood going downhill fast.

The Mad Hatter and Alice exchanged wary glances. They had to dance around this carefully. It was never fun having someone—especially a Queen—yell "off with your head" at you, summoning a blood-crazed mob, and then have to spend your whole evening evading said blood-crazed mob.

Alice knew from experience (though she supposed she ought to have listened to the March Hare's advice _not to beat _the Queen at croquet; Alice's tired feet had ached for weeks on end from all the running she had done to avoid the particularly long winded mob that time).

"My liege," The Mad Hatter said grandly, bending at the waist and humbly sweeping his large hat off. Beside him, Alice swooped down into a dutiful courtesy. "It is a pleasure to once again be invited into your illustrious, glorious presence," The Hatter continued, warming to his roll: "Your captivating beauty is surely the center of attention in this marvelous spectacular-spectacular themed party that you have so chosen to host. And what a party it is! I can gladly consent that I have never been to such a unique and stunning event as this—"

"Get on with it," The Queen of Hearts cut in crassly, crossing her arms across her chest. The movement was somewhat hampered by her positively humongous sleeves. The Queen glared at the Mad Hatter, not caring for his saccharine-coated words or his manners. It was obvious that the Queen was not a fan of court trivialities. The fact remained that the Court of Cards was still attempting to figure out how the Queen had become queen when she did not like the court-related functions that went along with it.

"Thank you for inviting me and may I introduce my accomplice Miss Alice Liddell who is visiting us from the other side for another pleasant period of time and I would also like to thank you for inviting her as well," The Mad Hatter said with one breath, and then inhaling sharply continued, "We would like to say that no one hosts such spectacular parties as you do, my liege, and that we are honored to be in attendance at such a decadent event as this and I would also like to point out beforehand that I had and will have nothing to do with the Cheshire Cat's appearance that will unavoidably happen as it does every year without fail but I'm sure your Card Guards will capture him this time."

Finished and panting, the Mad Hatter bowed again and dragged Alice away before she and the Queen of Hearts could start an epic standoff that would result in tragedy, an angry mob, and lots of running.

Unfortunately, that was the moment several unlikely and unrelated things happened at the same inopportune time. Fortune was not in the Mad Hatter and Alice's favor, it seemed. For as Helga wildly brandished a flamingo-croquet-club she had smuggled in via her tight leather dress, it sent an unlucky Card Guard stumbling backward to avoid getting smacked in the face.

This Card Guard tripped and landed on one of the delicate glass beverage tables, and immediately flipped over three punch bowls that spilt their contents all over him. The drenched, stunned Card Guard sat there, his mouth gaping open at how fast it had all happened.

The sight of the Card Guard was so hilarious that the White Rabbit snickered into his paw, on his way to the Queen of Hearts' side to inform her that the King had located his misplaced crown and was on his way. The White Rabbit, with his paw covering his face, did not notice the abandoned tea cup in his way. It was the same tea cup that had knocked off Jimmy's hat and knocked the Dodo Bird out; the one the Mad Hatter had thrown away. The White Rabbit stumbled over the tea cup, and then landed on the unconscious Dodo Bird.

The Dodo Bird, shocked awake by the unexpected weight of the White Rabbit on top of him, started squawking in alarm. This caused the nearby Jack of Diamond's to squeal at the loud sound and throw his tea cup into the air. The Jack and his accomplice watched as the tea flew out of the cup, flying into the air with an arc. And then the tea crashed down to earth, landing directly down the Caterpillar's just-dried hookah pipe. The Caterpillar let out a low growl of frustration and lashed out with his wet pipe like Babe Ruth.

The pipe hit the scurrying King of Hearts in the gut, and the small man tumbled over and over again, finally coming to a stop at his Queen's feet. She stared down at him, unimpressed. And it was then that the drenched Card Guard from before, disoriented, staggered onto his feet. He was instantly pushed aside by the frantic Dodo Bird, who was running around in circles in confusion. The drenched Card Guard was then bounced back yet again by the White Rabbit, who had just gotten onto his hind legs.

The soaked Card Guard, loosing his balance, fell directly onto the table stacked a mile high with tea cups. The tinkle of tea cups alerted the rest of the party to the danger, and everyone fell silent, even the yodeling Helga. Everyone stared breathlessly in anticipation at the tea cups, wondering if they would fall. The Queen of Hearts trembled with rage, glaring at the wet Card Guard who had stumbled into the legs of the small table.

But when it seemed like the tea cups would once again regain their balance and remain settled, a familiar disembodied grin appeared, floating a few inches above the top tea cup. Then a nose appeared, and then eyes, and finally a striped tail. The entirety of the Cheshire Cat came into being, smirking disconcertingly. He was lying on his back, floating, arms stretched out to the sides like he was flying upside down. His yellow eyes were focused tauntingly at the Queen of Hearts. Then he deliberately brought his tail into the air, and then slammed it down.

He stopped just before his tail came into furious contact with the cup. But then, when the Queen breathed in, relieved, the tail tapped the tea cup, gently with no more pressure then a feather. But it was enough to set off the delicate balance of the tower of tea cups.

Then the balance of the table failed and the expensive porcelain tea cups crushed to the ground.

-

The Mad Hatter would have reconsidered his choice in an accomplice if he had none she would make things so strenuous and unnecessarily difficult. But after many, many threats of removal of certain important body parts or what they could do with those certain body parts—the Queen of Hearts actually possessed quite the imagination—the Mad Hatter and Alice had extricated themselves from the sticky situation the Card Party had quickly dissolved into.

It had turned into yet another crime a scene, one that the Queen of Hearts was determined to solve and convict the culprit. But as everything had happened so fast, and many of the victims were bewildered as to how they had ended up sprawled out on the ground, there was really no evidence; so things had turned into a wild blame game, the Queen's favorite.

The Queen of Hearts had taken advantage of the situation to accuse innocent Alice, her favorite scapegoat. The rest of the Card Guard and the Queen's minions had quickly taken up arms and started rushing at Alice. They were determined to make her play along and attend a rigged trial, just like the last time. The Mad Hatter, however, was there to help Alice. He had slipped a hand around her waist, and supporting half of her weight, started outright sprinting for the bush that served as the confinements of the garden the Card Party had been held in.

The Mad Hatter had expertly navigated the bush labyrinth that had given Alice so much trouble. Amidst all of his sudden and wild turns, the Mad Hatter tried to explain to Alice how he knew his way around. She promptly was confused and the Mad Hatter gave up, concentrating on escaping their pursuers. The chase had ended, the Mad Hatter declaring they had lost the Queen & Co. somewhere in the Talking Flower Meadow (Alice didn't deem it important to recount her reunion with the rude, obnoxious, outspoken flowers).

Now the two stood before the tiny door that had served as Alice's entrance and exit during her first visit. She had recently found marginally more comfortable ways of entering Wonderland and leaving it, but the Mad Hatter had chosen this one. The Mad Hatter observed the door and then ordered it to be a little more considerate. It immediately expanded into a sensible, stylish set of French glass doors.

Alice, grateful that she wouldn't have to crawl undignified through the tiny door in front of the Mad Hatter, smiled at him. Alice then noticed that the Hatter's arm was still around her waist. She looked down at the hand and slowly up at him, her mouth curving into an expectant, impertinent grin. His hand tightened around her waist, his grip firm but gentle—insistent but giving her the freedom to pull away if she so chose.

She didn't pull away, staring up at him invitingly and challengingly, for old habits die hard.

The Mad Hatter's eyes light up, glittering wickedly, and he leaned down and forward. Alice let her eyes slip shut, craning her head up. Her heart was beating frantically in her chest. She had kissed a few boys before, but her experience faded away; replaced by worry. Those boys hadn't been the Mad Hatter. From some reason this seemed different then the few times Alice had done it before. But she shoved all of her thoughts away; concentrating on the few his breath gently caressed her cheek as his mouth neared hers.

Just before his lips touched hers, he whispered, "Goodbye, Alice. Safe journey home,"

And suddenly the Mad Hatter twirled her around in a dance move as he pulled the French doors open, revealing her bedroom at her house in boring England. He gently pushed her forward and, disoriented, she docilely stumbled forward. In her head, she had been about to kiss the Mad Hatter and something had interfered. When it finally, a full two seconds later, registered in her head what the Mad Hatter had whispered, she turned around, furious. She was just in time to see through the French doors, in the place of where her wide windows usually were, to where the Mad Hatter gave her a downright devious grin, blew a kiss with a gloved hand, and then firmly shut the windows.

It was only a full half an hour later, lying on her bed in the same dress, clutching a pillow to her dress as she relived the past two days as she grinned uncontrollably, did Alice realize two things:

First, the Mad Hatter had called her "Alice". She felt like she should be angry at the informality, but if she had been about to let him kiss her, she supposed that they really were at a first-name basis.

And second, most importantly, she was clutching tightly in her right hand a white glove. She had accidentally taken it when the Hatter, after twirling her around, had slipped his hand out of hers. It was a reminder of what had happened; as well as a reassurance that she would have to see the Hatter again.

Only to return the glove, of course.

*

_The End. _

_...for now.  
_

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**A/N: **This story has been a work-in-progress for at least six months, so I hope the ending didn't seem to rushed. I have an idea for a sequel in the works, but it depends on how much time I have on my hands. I eventually plan on writing it, so no worries there. So, how was it? Good enough to review, maybe...?

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